BY 


HUBERT  ANTHONY  SHANDS 


NEW  YORK 

HARCOURT,  BRACE  AND  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,    1922,   BY 
HARCOURT,   BRACK  AND   COMPANY,   INC. 


PRINTED    IN    THE    U.  S.  A.  BY 
THE    QUINN    a    BODEN    COMPANY 


WHITE  AND  BLACK 


2201166 


CHAPTER  I 

"Now  that  Bob  has  got  the  medal,  Will,  it  is  time  that 
we  decided  definitely  where  we  shall  send  him.  to  col- 
lege," said  Mrs.  Robertson. 

"Oh,  time  enough  for  that,"  answered  Mr.  Robert- 
son, "and  besides  we  must  wait  a  little  while  longer  to 
see  what  the  crops  are  going  to  do." 

"Crops  or  no  crops,  Bob  is  going  to  college,  and  he 
is  going  this  fall.  Bob  is  such  a  good  boy,  and  he  has 
taken  the  medal'  for  scholarship  at  the  high  school,  and 
then,  Will,  you  must  remember  that  he  was  converted 
last  summer.  I  am  not  afraid  to  send  him  off  to  college 
now.  Oh,  Will,  I  am  so  proud  of  him.  And  you  too, 
[Will,  you  are  proud  of  him,  aren't  you,  aren't  you,  Will?" 

"Yes,  Mamie,  I'm  proud  of  him  all  right,  but  you  see 
it  will  cost  money,  a  lot  of  money.  And  there  is  nowhere 
we  can  get  it  unless  the  crops  turn  out  well  and  the  price 
is  good." 

"Oh,  we  can  sacrifice,  Will.  We  can  do  without.  Bob 
must  go  to  college.  He  is  eighteen  now,  and  it  is  time 
for  him  to  go." 

"Yes,  honey,  I  know  all  about  that,  and  we'll  see  about 
it." 

"No,  no,  Will,  you  must  promise  me.  There  have  been 
so  many  things  you  were  going  to  see  about  that  have 
never  come  to  pass.  You  must  promise  me." 

"All  right,  then,  we  will  send  Bob  to  college  this  fall 
if—" 

3 


4  White  and  Black 

"No,  Will,  no  'if  about  it.  Say  'We  will  send  Bob 
to  college  this  fall.' " 

"Well,  honey,  I  was  just  going  to  say,  'if  possible.' 
We  certainly  can't  send  him  if  it  is  impossible.  We  can't 
do  the  impossible." 

"Oh,  Will,  Will,  so  many  things  have  been  impossible." 

"Yes,  dear  heart,  I  know  it.  I  know  it.  So  many 
things  that  we  hoped  for  have  never  come  to  us,  and  it 
has  been  my  fault.  I  know  that." 

"No,  Will,  don't  say  that." 

"Yes,  it  is  true.    Why  disguise  it?    Why  deny  it?" 

"But,  Will,  think,  think  of  Bob,  what  a  fine  boy  he 
is,  how  smart,  how  good,  how  handsome!  Oh,  Will, 
isn't  it  enough  to  fill  us  with  happiness  to  have  him?" 

"Yes,  yes,  honey,  he  is  a  mighty  fine  boy." 

"And  to  think  of  his  taking  the  medal  for  scholar- 
ship, such  a  beautiful  medal  it  is.  And  Brother  Maxcy 
told  me  his  was  such  a  sound  conversion.  He  said  he 
never  saw  a  more  earnest  and  sincere  conversion  in  his 
life.  Oh,  Will,  our  son  is  a  true,  true  Christian!" 

"Yes,  honey,  that's  all  mighty  fine,  and  we'll  strain 
every  nerve — we  will  send  him  to  college." 

"Oh,  Will,  think  what  a  magnificent  lawyer  he  will 
make,  or  maybe  a  consecrated  minister  of  the  gospel." 

"Yes,  yes,  honey,  that  will  come  in  its  time,  but  I  have 
been  out  in  the  field  all  day,  honey,  and  I'm  awfully  tired 
and  sleepy.  Suppose  we  go  to  sleep  now." 

"Oh,  I  can't  sleep,  Will,  for  thinking  about  it.  Listen, 
I  will  run  into  Bob's  room  and  tell  him  all  about  it.  And 
when  I  come  back,  I'll  tip  in,  so  you  won't  hear  me." 

"All  right,  honey,"  said  Mr.  Robertson  sleepily,  offer- 
ing his  lips  for  his  good-night  kiss. 

Mrs.  Robertson  kissed  him,  saying,  "Good  night,  dear," 


White  and  Black  5 

and  rose  from  beside  him,  threw  on  a  kimono,  and  stole 
out  quietly  to  go  to  Bob's  room. 

They  had  had  two  other  children,  a  boy  and  a  girl, 
but  both  had  died  in  infancy,  the  one  of  typhoid  and  the 
other  of  malaria,  leaving  Bob  an  only  child. 


CHAPTER  II 

IT  was  in  the  early  part  of  June,  1921,  and  only  two 
weeks  since  Bob  had  been  graduated  from  the  high  school 
of  Compton  with  the  highest  mark  for  scholarship,  and 
its  reward,  a  gold  medal,  had  been  bestowed  on  him  amid 
the  admiring  and  envious  glances  of  his  class-mates. 

Compton  was  the  county-seat  of  a  county  in  southeast 
Texas,  that  portion  of  the  state  which  had  been  settled 
before  the  Civil  War  by  planters  from  North  Carolina 
and  Alabama,  who  had  brought  with  them  their  black 
slaves. 

They  had  cleared  away  the  forests  and  made  fields  for 
the  cultivation  of  cotton  and  corn.  In  1921  these  fields 
had  been  in  such  cultivation  for  something  like  sixty  or 
seventy  years.  There  had  been  infrequent  and  limited 
rotation  of  crops,  so  the  fertility  of  the  soil  was  largely 
exhausted.  And  the  excessive  rains  of  winter  had  washed 
many  deep  gullies  through  the  sand  and  clay  of  the 
farms  that  lay,  as  it  were,  on  their  backs  offering  up  in 
continuing  protest  these  red  gashes  on  their  fronts  to 
the  inspection  of  unpitying  skies. 

The  old  Benton  pl'ace,  as  it  was  commonly  known 
throughout  the  county,  was  about  a  mile  east  of  the  small 
town  of  Compton.  And  the  west  boundary  of  the  place 
was  Berry  Creek,  which  was  subject  to  violent  over- 
flows, as  much  of  the  surface  soil  of  the  neighboring 
hills  had  been  washed  into  the  creek  bed  and  choked  up 
the  channel. 

6 


White  and  Black  7 

The  farm  was  traversed  from  west  to  east  by  one  of  the 
main  highways  of  the  county,  and  on  this  a  surface  of 
gravel  and  clay  had  recently  been  laid  to  make  the  road 
passable  in  wet  weather.  One  of  the  two  railroads  that 
crossed  each  other  at  Compton  also  cut  through  the 
farm,  but  near  its  north  end,  and  ran  approximately 
parallel  with  the  highway.  Both  the  railroad  and  the 
highway  crossed  Berry  Creek,  the  former  on  a  high 
trestle,  the  latter  on  a  low  bridge  approached  at  either 
end  by  an  earthen  dump  surfaced  with  concrete. 

The  old  Benton  place  containing  five  hundred  acres 
had  belonged  to  Mrs.  Robertson's  grandfather,  who  had 
lived  on  it  and  cultivated  it  with  his  slaves.  It  had  been 
inherited  by  her  through  her  father,  and  she  and  Will 
Robertson  had  moved  on  it  as  bride  and  groom  twenty 
years  before,  in  June  of  1901.  The  old  Robertson  place 
of  five  hundred  acres,  usually  called  by  the  Robertsons 
"the  lower  place,"  as  being  farther  down  the  creek,  con- 
stituted, together  with  fifteen  hundred  acres  of  timber 
land  in  the  eastern  part  of  the  county,  the  inherited  estate 
of  the  groom.  This  "lower  place"  was  three  miles  to 
the  west,  had  never  been  reached  by  any  good  road,  and 
was  therefore  less  accessible  to  travel,  as  well  as  farther 
from  town  than  the  old  Benton  place.  It  was  natural 
therefore  that  the  young  couple  should  choose  the  latter 
as  the  site  for  their  home. 

The  old  house  of  Grandfather  Benton,  originally  built 
of  logs  that  were  later  planked  over,  had  fallen  into 
decay,  and  had  long  been  inhabited  by  Negro  tenants. 
It  sat  on  the  north  side  of  the  road.  The  young  people 
built  their  new  home  on  the  south  side  of  the  road,  placing 
it  on  the  top  of  a  hill  that  was  the  highest  point  in  all 
the  country  around. 


8  White  and  Black 

It  was  a  frame  house  of  two  stories,  painted  white, 
with  green  window  blinds,  and  together  with  the  out- 
buildings cost  five  thousand  dollars.  It  was  known  to 
all  on  the  farm  as  the  "big  house."  It  faced  north  toward 
the  road,  and  was  square  in  shape  except  that  there  was 
an  ell  at  the  rear,  where  were  the  kitchen  and  pantry. 
One  entering  at  the  front  passed  across  a  large  porch 
into  a  hall  running  through  the  center  of  the  house  to  a 
back  porch.  Two  downstairs  rooms  were  on  each  side  of 
the  hall,  which  contained  a  staircase  leading  up  to  a  hall 
and  four  rooms  similarly  arranged  above.  In  the  summer 
time  this  hall  was  a  cool  place  for  an  afternoon  siesta, 
but  on  a  winter  morning  it  felt  as  cold  as  the  Arctic 
regions  despite  the  fact  that  there  was  a  shut  door  at 
each  end.  The  first  room  to  the  right  of  the  front 
entrance  was  the  family  sitting-room.  Across  the  hall 
from  it  was  the  parlor,  rarely  used  for  any  purpose. 
Behind  the  parlor  was  the  dining-room,  and  across  the 
hall  from  it  a  bedroom  called  the  "preachers'  room,"  in 
which  visiting  ministers,  and  many  of  them  came  to  the 
Robertsons',  usually  stayed. 

Immediately  in  front  of  the  house  and  extending  around 
to  the  west  side  was  a  flower  garden,  not  very  well  tended, 
but  enclosed  by  a  picket  fence.  From  the  front  gate 
in  this  fence  a  graveled  road  bordered  by  planted  pecan 
trees  led  to  the  highway  about  three  hundred  yards  dis- 
tant. The  same  road  bent  west  around  the  garden  and 
headed  toward  the  rear  of  the  premises,  passing  a  well 
and  tank  tower  from  which  water  was  supplied  to  the 
house  by  a  windmill  that  screaked  badly  at  times  and  at 
other  times  didn't  pump  very  well  for  lack  of  wind. 

To  the  west  of  the  house  there  was  a  sharp  declivity 
falling  toward  the  creek  bottom,  in  the  nearer  edge  of 


White  and  Black  9 

which  was  planted  a  field  of  cotton.  From  the  house 
ran  a  road  through  this  field  to  a  gate  called  the  bottom 
gate,  which  afforded  a  shorter  way  than  the  highroad  to 
the  town.  Beyond  the  field  were  the  trees  along  the  creek 
bank.  Over  their  tops  in  the  near  distance  could  be  seen 
the  houses  and  streets  of  Compton  and  the  court  house 
in  the  middle  of  the  square.  None  of  these  was  par- 
ticularly picturesque,  as  the  houses  were  not  imposing 
and  the  streets  were  neither  very  wide  nor  handsome  nor 
greatly  frequented  by  either  pedestrians  or  equipages, 
except  perhaps  on  Saturday  afternoons,  when  all  of  the 
Negroes  of  the  surrounding  farms  would  come  to  town. 

Behind  the  house  was  first  a  back-yard,  then  the  barns, 
stables  and  horse  lot,  then  the  vegetable  garden,  and 
behind  that  the  field  cultivated  by  Joe  Williams,  a  Negro 
tenant.  This  field  was  traversed  by  a  spring  branch  hav- 
ing at  its  head  around  the  spring  a  small  grove  of  tower- 
ing pine  trees,  and  further  down  along  its  course  a  row 
of  cottonwoods  on  either  side,  until  it  reached  the  elms, 
oaks,  hackberries  and  willows  of  the  creek  bottom.  The 
spring  branch  was  half  way  between  the  big  house  and 
the  tenant  house  of  Joe  Williams,  the  roof  of  which 
could  be  seen  from  the  big  house  through  the  foliage 
of  the  intervening  trees. 

On  the  east  of  the  house  was  a  five-acre  patch  on  which 
was  grown  usually  such  small  crops  as  sorghums,  sweet 
potatoes,  cowpeas,  peanuts  and  watermelons.  Beyond 
this  patch  was  a  thirty-acre  wood  lot,  covered  mainly  by 
young  second  growth  pines,  which  were  interspersed  here 
and  there  with  sassafras,  sycamores,  elms  and  oaks. 

Between  this  wood  lot  and  the  highway  was  a  small 
pasture  of  something  like  twenty  acres,  called  the  home 
pasture,  in  which  calves  and  the  horses  soon  to  be  needed 


So  White  and  Black 

were  allowed  to  graze.  The  big  pasture  and  hay  meadow 
were  on  the  other  side  of  the  road,  near  the  north  end  of 
the  farm,  at  some  considerable  distance  behind  the  old 
Benton  homestead  occupied  by  the  Negro  tenant,  John 
Ramsey,  and  his  numerous  family. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  next  morning  Mr.  Robertson  was  up  early  and  out 
in  the  fields.  He  went  first  to  that  tilled  by  Joe  Williams, 
a  Negro  of  fifty  years  of  age,  who  had  lived  on  the  place 
continuously  for  twenty-five  years,  and  had  reared  there 
his  family  of  three  girls,  Lucindy,  Mariah  and  Ella.  His 
wife  was  named  Malviny. 

Neither  Joe  nor  any  of  his  family  was  to  be  seen  at 
work  in  the  field,  so  Mr.  Robertson  rode  on  to  the  tenant 
house,  where  he  found  Malviny  sweeping  off  the  front 
porch. 

"What's  the  matter,  Malviny?"  he  asked.  "Why  aren't 
the  folks  out  in  the  field?  That  cotton's  got  to  be  dirted 
up,  and  it  needs  to  be  given  a  last  chopping  to  get  rid 
of  the  cockle-burrs  and  those  bunches  of  Johnson  grass." 

"Yassuh,  Mr.  Will,  I  wuz  a-tellin'  Joe  about  it,  but  he 
say  better  wait  till  the  jew  gits  off  en  de  plants.  He  say 
dey  ain't  no  rush,  and  he's  feel'in'  sorter  po'ly  dis  mawnin'. 
He  jus'  'lowed  he'd  lay  a  little  later.  And  den  Lucin- 
dy's  got  de  fever  agin.  She  mighty  nigh  shook  de  kivvers 
offen  her  yestiddy  evenin',  she  wuz  chillin'  so  awful.  But 
I'll  call  him — Joe,  Joe,  Mr.  Will's  out  hyeer." 

Joe  came  out  of  the  house  chewing.  "Good  mawnin', 
Mr.  Will,"  he  said,  his  utterance  muffled  by  the  corn- 
bread  in  his  mouth.  "I  ain't  'spected  you  to  be  up  and 
aroun'  dis  soon.  It's  powerful  early,  Mr.  Will.  I  ain't 
had  time  to  finish  breakfus'  yit." 

"Well,  I  think  it's  high  time  you  were  in  the  field, 
Joe,  and  where  are  the  girls?" 


12  White  and  Black 

"Dey's  kinder  scrappin'  up  in  de  kitchen,  Mr.  Will, 
all  'ceppen  Lucindy.  She's  down  agin  wid  de  chills  an' 
fever.  Looks  like  we  sho'  do  have  a  power  of  sick- 
ness." 

"It  does  look  that  way,  Joe.  But  hustle  around  now 
and  get  out  there  with  Mariah  and  Ella.  I  reckon  Mai- 
viny  can  look  after  Lucindy  all  right" 

"All  right,  Mr.  Will,  but  don't  you  reckon  we  better 
wait  till  de  jew  lifts.  You  know  it's  powerful  unhealthy 
to  git  all  wet  up  wid  de  jew,  an'  Mariah's  been  feelin' 
puny  like  for  mighty  nigh  a  week,  an'  layin'  by  time  is 
mos'  hyeer  anyhow.  Dey  ain't  no  rush,  Mr.  Will.  I 
got  de  bes'  cotton  dey  is  on  de  place  an'  de  cleanest.  And 
dey  ain't  none  of  'em  on  de  lower  place  kin  beat  me. 
I  wuz  down  dar  las'  week.  And  dey  ain't  none  of  'em 
can  hold  a  light  to  me.  An'  de  cawn's  done  laid  by. 
I  got  a  cawn  crop  made,  Mr.  Will.  Is  you  ever  seed 
sich  cawn?" 

"Well,  yes,  it  is  pretty  good  corn,  Joe,  but  we've  got 
to  make  a  good  crop  this  year.  I  am  going  to  send  Bob 
off  to  college.  And  he  will  need  money." 

"Waal,  suh!"  interposed  Malviny,  "Mr.  Bob's  gwine 
off  to  college.  Whar  you  gwine  to  send  him,  Mr.  Will  ?" 

"I  haven't  decided  yet,  but  Miss  Mamie  and  I  were 
talking  about  it  last  night,  and  we  are  going  to  send  him 
somewhere." 

"Waal,  suh!"  said  Malviny,  "an'  whut's  Miss  Mamie 
gwine  to  do  widout  him?" 

"It  is  going  to  be  hard  on  her.  But  we'll  all  have  to 
try  to  make  it  up  to  her  somehow,  Malviny." 

"We  sho'  will,  Mr.  Will,  'cause  Miss  Mamie's  sho' 
gwine  to  grieve  atter  him.  She  keeps  him  in  de  middle 
of  her  heart  all  de  time." 


White  and  Black  13 

Mariah  and  Ella  came  out  on  the  porch,  bashfully  fin- 
gering their  aprons  before  Mr.  Will. 

"Whut  you  reckon,  Ella,"  said  Malviny,  "Mr.  Bob  is 
gwine  off  to  college." 

"Yassum,  dat  sho*  wuz  a  pretty  medal  dey  give  him 
over  to  de  high  school,"  said  Ella. 

"I'm  powerful  glad  he's  goin',"  said  Joe.  "You  know, 
Mr.  Will,  I  always  is  believed  in  eddication.  I  sont  all 
my  girls  to  school.  An'  all  of  'em  kin  read  an'  write  an' 
figger  better'n  whut  I  kin  now." 

"Yes,  that's  so,  Joe,  and  you  have  done  right.  Yon 
have  really  done  better  by  them  than  you  could  afford. 
But  get  your  hat,  Joe,  and  come  along.  I  want  to  see 
that  mule  hitched  to  your  plow  before  I  leave.  I've  got 
to  go  over  to  John  Ramsey's  house  and  stir  him  up." 

Joe  went  into  the  house  and  came  back  with  a  torn 
and  misshapen  old  rag  of  a  hat  so  full  of  holes  that  no 
imagination  could  regard  it  as  a  real  protection  against 
the  sun. 

"Is  that  the  best  hat  you've  got,  Joe  ?"  asked  Mr.  Rob- 
ertson, as  he  rode  along  beside  him  on  the  way  to  Joe's 
horse-lot. 

"Yassuh,  it's  de  bes'  one  I  got  to  work  in.  Of  co'se 
I's  got  my  Sunday  hat,  but  it  won't  do  to  wear  dat  in 
de  field." 

"Well,  I'll  have  to  look  around  the  house  and  see  if 
Mr.  Bob  or  I  haven't  an  old  one  we  can  give  you." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Will,  wonder  if  you  ain't  got  some 
old  pants,  too.  And  Malviny  wuz  jes'  sayin'  las'  week 
she  bet  Miss  Mamie  wuz  gwine  to  give  her  a  dress.  She 
say  she  dreamed  she  seen  Miss  Mamie  givin'  her  dat  ar 
spotted  dress  Miss  Mamie  been  a-wearin'  for  de  longest." 

Mr.   Robertson  laughed,   and   said,   "Well,   I   reckon 


14  White  and  Black 

Malviny'll  get  it.  What  surprises  me  is  that  she  hasn't 
already  told  Miss  Mamie  about  that  dream.  Or  maybe 
you  thought  of  that  dream,  Joe,  just  this  minute,  and  you 
haven't  had  time  to  tell  Malviny  about  it." 

"Haw,  haw,  haw,"  laughed  Joe.  "You  sho'  is  a  joker, 
Mr.  Will." 

"Well,  never  mind,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  "but  speaking 
of  jokes,  Joe,  I  just  happened  to  notice  how  light-com- 
plected Mariah  and  Ella  are,  when  they  came  out  on  the 
porch.  You  and  Malviny  are  both  so  black." 

"Now,  look  'ee  hyeer,  Mr.  Will,  you  know  I  can't  stand 
no  jokin'  'bout  dat.  An'  den  dey  ain't  so  light.  Some- 
times it  jes'  happens  dat  a  way  wid  black  folks,  any- 
how." 

"I  don't  know,  Joe,  it  looks  to  me  like  you  started  with 
Lucindy,  pretty  middling  black,  and  then  Mariah,  lighter, 
and  Ella,  not  very  far  from  yellow.  How  do  you  explain 
that?" 

"Mr.  Will,  you  knows  as  good  as  I  does  dat  Malviny's 
mammy  wuz  a  yaller  woman,  an'  it's  jes'  come  out  ag'in 
in  de  gals." 

"Well,  maybe  so,  Joe,  but  you'd  better  keep  your  eyes 
open  all  the  same,"  and  Mr.  Robertson  laughed  teasingly. 

"Now,  look  'ee  hyeer,  Mr.  Will,"  said  Joe  as  he  stood 
with  his  hand  on  the  ramshackle  gate  of  his  horse-lot, 
"you  knows  how  I've  brung  my  gals  up.  I  ain't  never 
let  'em  work  out  for  nobody.  I  knows  and  you  knows 
about  dese  white  men.  .  .  .  And  Malviny  she's  been  home, 
too,  mighty  nigh  all  de  time.  Naw,  suh,  my  wimmen 
folks  has  got  to  have  charackter,  Mr.  Will.  You  knows 
dat.  Look  over  dar  now  at  John  Ramsey's  gals.  It 
makes  me  sick,  plumb  sick,  and  him  a  local  preacher,  too. 


White  and  Black  i<J 

It's  true  I  don't  preach  in  de  church.  I  don't  do  nuthin' 
but  lecture  sometimes  at  prayer  meetin'  when  de  preacher 
ain't  dar,  but  if  one  of  my  gals  wuz  to  carry  on  like 
John  Ramsey's  does,  I'd  beat  her  to  death.  Why  can't 
de  white  men  behave  deyselves  an'  let  our  wimmen  folks 
alone,  we  don't — " 

"Look  out,  Joe,"  said  Mr.  Robertson  sternly.  "Stop 
right  there.  Get  that  mul'e  hitched  to  the  plow." 

"Yassuh,  Mr.  Will,  I  wuzn't  gwine  to  say  nuthin'.  I 
was  jes'  a-thinkin' — " 

"Well,  don't  think.  I  haven't  got  time  to  fool  along 
here  all  morning.  Get  a  move  on  you." 

Joe  caught  the  mule  and  led  it  to  where  the  gear  was 
hanging  on  the  rail  fence.  "Whoa,  mule!  whoa,  Beck!" 
he  said.  "Dis  hyeer  mule  tries  to  flinch  plum  across  de 
lot  ever  time  I  go  to  th'ow  de  back-band  'cross  her.  She 
is  de  out-doin'est  mule  I  ever  seed." 

"I  reckon  so,  Joe,  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  your- 
self. Look  at  that  sore  on  her  back." 

"Oh,  dat  ain't  much  of  a  so',  Mr.  Will'.  Dat  little  ole 
so'  don't  hurt  her  none.  She's  jes'  mean,  dat's  whut  she 
is." 

"Why,  the  sore  is  half  as  big  as  my  hand.  Get  a 
gunnysack  and  put  under  that  back-band,  and  bring  the 
mule  up  to  the  big  house  to-night  to  be  doctored." 

Joe  found  an  old  gunny-sack,  put  it  in  place,  and  at 
last  got  the  mule  hitched  to  the  plow.  Mr.  Robertson 
turned  his  horse  and  rode  away,  saying  angrily,  "These 
damned  niggers  will  work  a  mule  all  day  and  slip  it  out 
and  ride  it  all  night."  But  he  added  after  a  pause,  "Well, 
that's  just  a  nigger.  They  always  have  done  it,  the  best 


1 6  White  and  Black 

of  them,  and  I  suppose  they  always  will.  But  Joe  is 
right.  The  white  men  ought  to  let  the  nigger  women 
alone.  And  Joe  has  certainly  done  his  best  by  his  girls. 
Ah,  well,  there's  a  lot  of  things  to  worry  about." 


CHAPTER  IV 

ON  his  way  to  John  Ramsey's,  Mr.  Robertson  had  to 
pass  by  the  big  house  and  go  down  the  road  in  front 
of  it.  Just  as  he  came  to  the  big  gate  opening  into  the 
road  he  was  overtaken  by  Bob  riding  his  horse,  Saladin,  a 
very  beautiful  animal,  somewhat  larger  than  medium- 
sized,  a  dark  bay  in  col'or,  and  gracefully  shaped.  Mrs. 
Robertson  had  named  him  Saladin,  because  he  must  have 
Arabian  blood  in  him,  she  said.  Mr.  Robertson  had 
bought  him  for  Bob  two  years  before  from  an  itinerant 
horse-trader. 

"Hold  on,  Papa,"  said  Bob,  "let  me  open  the  gate 
for  you." 

Mr.  Robertson  looked  around,  saying,  "Hello,  Bob, 
have  you  had  your-  breakfast  already  ?" 

"I  have  that,"  answered  Bob,  "and  it  was  a  good  one. 
Cindy  can  beat  the  world  frying  chicken,  can't  she,  Papa ! 
And  Mama  gave  me  a  lot  of  those  new  plum  preserves 
with  my  batter-cakes.  You  and  Mama  are  mighty  good 
to  me,  Papa." 

"Yes,  I  expect  we  spoil  you,  Bob.  But  you  know,  yot£ 
are  your  mother's  heart." 

Bob  had  skilfully  brought  his  horse  alongside  of  the 
gate,  and  now  leaned  over  and  deftly  opened  it.  Riding 
through  first,  he  held  the  gate  open  for  his  father  to 
pass,  and  then  closed  it. 

"Papa,"  he  said,  "you  couldn't  spare  a  dollar  this  morn- 
ing,  could  you?" 

"Well,  son,  I  reckon  so,  but  dollars  are  mighty  scarce. 

17 


1 8  White  and  Black 

What  are  you  going  to  do,  set  'em  up  to  the  girls  at  the 
soda-fountain  ?" 

"Well,  I  thought  I  might  see  Minnie  Deane,  and  a 
feller  feels  mighty  bad  when  he  hasn't  got  a  cent  in  his 
pocket." 

"All  right,"  answered  Mr.  Robertson,  taking  out  his 
pocketbook,  "here's  the  dollar.  Minnie  is  a  nice  girl." 

"Thank  you,  Papa,  so  long !"  And  Bob  galloped  away 
toward  Compton. 

"Rides  like  he  was  part  of  the  horse,"  thought  Mr. 
Robertson,  as  he  looked  after  him.  "He's  a  fine  boy, 
there's  no  denying  that.  But,  of  course,  he  is  not  as  good 
as  Mamie  thinks  he  is.  No  boy  could  be.  Now,  for  John 
Ramsey." 

He  rode  across  the  highway  to  John's  gate,  which  was 
set  back  a  little  way  from  the  road.  Two  pickaninnies, 
ragged,  grinning,  bright  yellow  in  color,  raced  from  John's 
porch  to  open  the  gate,  animated  by  hope  for  a  nickel. 
But  this  morning  Mr.  Robertson  passed  them  up,  hardly 
noticing  their  presence. 

He  saw  John  hastily  leaving  the  porch  as  if  he  had 
a  matter  of  great  urgency  to  attend  to  somewhere  within 
the  house  or  at  the  horse-lot  in  the  rear. 

"Hold  on,  John.  Where  are  you  going?"  he  called, 
loudly. 

John  stopped  midway  of  the  dilapidated  hall  that  was 
open  to  the  elements  at  both  ends,  and  half  turning  around, 
said,  "Lawd,  is  dat  you,  Mr.  Will?  I  ain't  seed  you,  I 
wuz  in  sich  a  hurry  to  git  to  work.  I  wuz  jes'  a-rushin* 
back  to  hitch  up.  But  dat's  me.  I  always  is  in  sich  a 
rush  a-workin*  dat  I  don't  hardly  see  nobody  at  all." 

Mr.  Robertson  laughed  good-naturedly.  "Of  all  the 
fancy  liars,  John,  you  take  the  cake.  You  would  have 


White  and  Black  19* 

sat  out  on  that  porch  until  dinner  time  watching  the 
road,  if  I  hadn't  come  along.  You  saw  me,  but  you 
thought  I  was  going  to  town  with  Bob.  The  only  thing 
that  surprised  you  was  that  I  turned  up  this  way." 

"Now,  Mr.  Will,  you  discombobulates  a  man  when  you 
argyfies  dat  a  way.  I  wuz  jes'  tellin'  Rosy  las'  night  dat 
you  sho'  is  got  a  keen  eye  on  you.  An'  dey  ain't  nobody 
neenter  to  think  dey  kin  pull  de  wool  over  it,  neither." 

"How's  your  crop,  John?  I  have  been  down  to  the 
lower  place  so  much  lately  that  I  haven't  had  a  chance  to 
get  over  here." 

"De  crop  is  doin'  fine,  Mr.  Will.  Of  co'se  dey  is  a 
few  skips  in  de  cotton  hyeer  an'  dar.  You  know  I  didn't 
git  de  bes'  stand  'count  of  de  wet  weather,  but  I  sho'  is 
worked  to  make  up  for  dat.  An'  cotton  is  a  plant  dat 
reesponds  to  work." 

"Well,  if  that's  all  it  responds  to,"  said  Mr.  Robert- 
son, smiling,  "yours  is  bound  to  answer  in  a  whisper." 

"Naw,  suh,  naw,  suh,  Mr.  Will,  my  cotton  is  shoutin' 
out  loud,  and  my  cawn,  you  ought  to  see  it,  my  cawn  is 
yellin'  come  look  at  me !" 

"Well,  let's  go,"  answered  Mr.  Robertson.  "Saddle 
up  something  and  come  along." 

They  went  to  the  horse-lot,  and  John  threw  an  old 
worn-out  saddle  on  the  back  of  a  flea-bitten,  bony  gray 
mare,  mounted,  and  they  rode  toward  the  field. 

"John,  why  don't  you  feed  your  work  animals  ?"  asked 
Mr.  Robertson. 

"I  feeds  'em,  I  feeds  'em  good  all  de  time,"  answered 
John,  "but  you  know,  Mr.  Will,  my  part  of  de  cawn  from 
las'  year  is  runnin'  low,  an'  we  got  to  save  some  of  it 
for  bread.  But  dis  hyeer  ole  mare  kin  eat  an'  eat  an* 
eat,  an'  she  don't  git  no  fatter.  She  reminds  me  of  de 


2O  White  and  Black 

locustes  in  de  Scripter.  Dey  et  up  ever'  thing  dey  wuz 
in  de  Promised  Land — an'  whut  do  de  Good  Book  say  ? — 
It  don't  say  nuthin'  about  a  single  fat  locust  anywhar 
'round  Jerusalem,  nor  yet  in  de  bound'ry  lines  of  Jericho." 

"You've  been  selling  that  corn.  That's  what  you've 
been  doing,"  said  Mr.  Robertson.  "And  I'm  getting  tired 
of  it.  I'm  going  to  drive  you  off  of  the  place  if  you 
don't  quit  starving  your  stock." 

But  just  then  they  passed  through  a  skirt  of  high  blood- 
weeds  and  willow  bushes  that  grew  along  a  small  branch 
and  that  had  hitherto  hid  John's  crop  from  sight.  When 
Mr.  Robertson's  eye  fell  on  the  corn,  he  said,  angrily, 
"What  on  earth  do  you  mean,  John?  The  cockle-burrs 
are  taking  that  corn.  Here  we  have  had  two  weeks  of 
good  weather,  and  you  haven't  struck  a  lick  of  work." 

"Lawd,  Mr.  Will,  I  done  laid  dat  cawn  by  mos'  three 
weeks  ago.  I  wuz  de  fust  hand  on  de  place  to  lay  my 
cawn  by." 

"Well,  you  are  going  to  be  the  first  hand  on  the  place 
to  get  in  it  again  and  chop  those  burrs  and  plow  out 
the  middles.  You  begin  on  that  this  morning.  You 
hear  me !" 

"Yassuh,  of  co'se  I'll'  chop  'em  out  if  you  say  so,  Mr. 
Will,  but  dem  burrs  don'  hurt  nuthin'.  You  know  it's 
natchul  for  cuckle-burrs  to  grow  up  in  cawn  you  done 
laid  by,  Mr.  Will,  and  dey  shades  de  roots  of  de  cawn." 

"Shut  up!"  said  Mr.  Robertson.  "That  corn  won't 
make  ten  bushels  to  the  acre.  Come  on,  and  let's  see 
your  cotton." 

John  followed  meekly  with  apprehension  and  calcu- 
lation in  his  eye.  They  rode  in  silence.  When  they  came 
to  the  cotton  field,  Mr.  Robertson  exclaimed,  "God 


White  and  Black  21! 

a'mighty,  look  at  that  cotton,  all  run  away  with  the 
grass!  I'm  a  mind  to  break  your  infernal  neck.  What 
do  you  mean  by  it?" 

"Why,  Mr.  Will,  dat  little  ole  grass !  Dat  ain't  nuthin'. 
Me  an'  de  chillun'll  git  dat  out  of  dar  befo'  you  kin  say 
boo-shuckins.  We  wuz  jes'  lay  in'  off  to  git  into  dat 
cotton  to-day." 

"Joe's  cotton  is  nearly  clean,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  "and 
I  don't  see  why  you  can't  keep  up  with  him  at  least." 

"If  I  had  de  force  Brother  Williams's  got,  I'd  ha'  had 
dat  cotton  clean  long  befo'  now,"  answered  John. 

"What's  the  matter  with  your  force?  You've  got  as 
many  as  Joe  has." 

"Waal,  suh,  you  know,  Mr.  Will,  dat  de  mos'  of  my 
chillun  is  small,  all  my  boys  is  little  an'  Rosy,  my  oldest 
gal,  she,  she — " 

"What's  the  matter  with  her?" 

"She's  gwine  to  have  another  baby,  Mr.  Will." 

"Oh,  the  devil!"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  "didn't  your 
other  daughter — what's  her  name? — Oh,  Sally.  She  is 
the  one  who  had  a  baby  in  the  winter  and  it  died?" 

"Yassuh,  she  had  one." 

"And  neither  one  of  them  is  married." 

"Naw,  suh,  dey  ain't  married  yit." 

"And  you  a  preacher !  Can't  you  bring  your  children 
up  better  than  that  ?" 

"De  Lawd  gives  an'  de  Lawd  takes  away,  Mr.  Will, 
an'—" 

"Who's  the  daddy  of  Rosy's  baby?" 

"I  don't  know,  suh,  but  she  say  it  mus'  be  Mr.  Hiram 
Shorter.  She  say  she's  'most  sho'  it's  Mr.  Hiram 
Shorter." 


22  White  and  Black 

"So  that's  how  it  is !  But  I  reckon  there's  no  stopping 
it.  All  of  you  are  so  trifling  and  lazy  and  poor.  Why 
don't  you  work  and  make  something?" 

"We  -works  all  de  time,  Mr.  Will,  but  it  looks  like 
vwe  can't  never  git  ahead  none.  An'  you  knows  gals  will 
be  gals,  an'  dey  boun'  to  have  some  ribbons  and  things." 

Mr.  Robertson  threw  up  his  hand  in  exasperation. 
"Well,"  he  said,  "get  the  rest  of  'em  down  here  to  chop- 
ping out  that  cotton,  and  you  go  to  work  on  the  corn." 

Dejectedly  he  turned  his  horse  to  ride  back  to  the 
big  house,  leaving  John  gazing  at  the  cotton  patch  and 
scratching  his  head  as  if  trying  to  figure  out  where  to 
begin  work  on  it 


CHAPTER  V 

IT  was  ten  o'clock  when  Mr.  Robertson  reached  home. 
The  sun  was  shining  hot  and  no  breath  of  air  was  stirring. 
Over  the  fields  was  a  shimmer  of  heat  waves,  and  the 
katydids  were  singing  their  strident  song  of  summer. 

"Phew !  it's  hot,"  he  said,  "but  maybe  this  weather  will 
stun  the  boll-weevils  a  little.  That's  some  comfort  any- 
how." 

He  went  into  the  house  through  the  back  porch,  took 
a  drink  of  water  from  the  bucket  that  was  hung  there  on 
a  wire  from  the  ceiling,  mopped  his  face  with  a  handker- 
chief, walked  into  the  hall  where  Mrs.  Robertson  was 
sitting,  shelling  black-eyed  peas,  and  said,  "These  trifling 
niggers  will  be  the  death  of  me  yet.  John  Ramsey's  crop 
is  in  an  awful  shape." 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Robertson,  "John's  crop  was  never 
in  any  other  shape,  was  it?" 

"No,  but  it  is  worse  even  than  usual." 

"I've  been  telling  you  to  get  rid  of  John  all  of  the 
time.  Why  do  you  let  him  stay  on  ?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,  he  seems  to  have  such  a  hard  time 
with  his  women  folks  and  one  thing  another,  I  haven't 
just  had  the  heart  to  drive  him  away.  And  then  he's  a 
good  nigger,  never  spoke  a  disrespectful  word  to  me 
in  his  life,  and,"  he  added  with  a  smile,  "as  a  grave  digger 
he  can't  be  beat." 

"A  hard  time  with  his  women  folks !"  said  Mrs.  Rob- 
ertson. "Why,  his  girls  have  as  good  clothes  as  I  have, 
and  his  wife,  too.  They  ought  to  be  run  out  of  the  county. 

23 


24  White  and  Black 

And  he  lives  off  of  them  and  off  of  you.  He  never  makes 
any  crop.  And  I  hope  we  don't  want  any  graves  dug 
soon,  and  besides  he  makes  dumb  Handy,  his  helper,  do 
almost  all  the  real  work  about  digging  a  grave." 

"Now,  now,  Mamie,  you  know  his  women  folks  haven't 
as  good  clothes  as  yours." 

"Well,  they  look  as  good,  but  of  course  a  nigger  looks 
dressed  up  in  clothes  that  would  look  shabby  on  a  white 
person.  But  how  much  finer  they  dress  than  Joe's  girls ! 
I  can't  stand  'em.  And  as  for  John,  he's  a  lazy,  good- 
for-nothing  palaverer.  That's  what  he  is." 

"Oh,  you  forget,  Mamie,  John's  a  minister  of  the  gos- 
pel," said  Mr.  Robertson,  laughing. 

"How  can  you  laugh  about  that,  Will?  You  ought  to 
be  ashamed." 

"Oh,  well,  I  don't  suppose  anybody  takes  a  nigger 
preacher  seriously,"  he  answered. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Mrs.  Robertson.  "I  think  Joe 
Williams  is  really  a  good  man." 

"Yes,  but  Joe  is  not  a  preacher,  though." 

"Well,  there's  Uncle  Sam  Sparkins,  down  on  the  lower 
place.  He's  a  good,  humble  Christian." 

"Yes,  I  reckon  Uncle  Sam's  all  right.  And  his  boys 
are  good  workers.  I  don't  think  I  ever  saw  a  nicer  crop 
than  Bill's,  his  oldest  boy.  It's  as  clean  as  your  hand, 
and  well  worked  from  start  to  finish." 

"Well,  I  am  glad  to  hear  there's  one  good  crop  some- 
where." 

"Oh,  taken  by  and  large,  the  crops  are  not  so  bad.  John 
Ramsey's  is  the  only  one  that  looks  hopeless." 

"If  I  live  to  see  the  end  of  this  year,  John  Ramsey  has 
got  to  get  off  of  this  place,"  said  Mrs.  Robertson,  de- 
terminedly. 


White  and  Black  2$ 

"Yes,  I  reckon  it  would  be  best  to  get  rid  of  him," 
answered  Mr.  Robertson.  "But  what's  Bob  up  to  this 
morning?  He  touched  me  for  a  dollar  at  the  big  gate." 

"He  said  he  was  going  to  town.  And  I  think  he  wanted 
to  buy  Minnie  Deane  a  pound  of  candy." 

"He  didn't  say  a  word  to  me  about  college.  How  does 
he  feel  about  that?" 

"He's  overjoyed  at  the  idea  of  going.  He  is  such  an 
ambitious  boy,  Will.  He  told  me  he  was  so  thankful  to 
think  that  he  was  going  to  get  to  go.  He  looks  more 
like  you  every  day,  Will." 

"Well,  I  don't  know.  I  certainly  haven't  been  very 
ambitious,  or,  at  least,  I  have  accomplished  mighty  littl'e," 
said  Mr.  Robertson,  sighing. 

"Oh,  Will,  you  know  you  married  so  young,  the  first 
year  after  you  had  finished  at  college,  and  since  that  time 
it  has  been  a  fight  with  poor  land  and  trifling  niggers  and 
bad  seasons  and  boll-weevils  and  army  worms  and  what 
not,  and  I  know  you  have  done  it  all  for  me,  honey." 

"No,  no,  Mamie,  I  ought  to  have  done  far  better." 

"And  there's  the  mortgage  on  the  lower  place,  too,  that 
has  been  running  all  this  time.  And  after  all  we  never 
needed  such  a  big  house  as  we  built  with  that  money. 
We  were  foolish  young  things,  Will,  and  didn't  know." 

"No,  honey,  we  didn't  know.  And,  by  the  way,  this  is 
June,  ain't  it?  And  the  semi-annual  interest  is  coming 
due  again  next  month.  I'll  have  to  borrow  some  money 
from  the  bank  to  pay  it  with." 

"And  the  bank  charges  ten  per  cent.,  don't  it,  Will?" 

"Yes,  but  it  won't  have  to  be  but  for  ninety  days,  and 
the  crops  will  be  in  by  that  time ;  so  we  can  pay  it  back. 
It  looks  like  we  ought  to  have  enough  money  without 
borrowing,  but  in  1915,  you  remember,  the  storm 


26  White  and  Black 

destroyed  the  crops.  It  took  all  we  could  make  in  1916 
to  pay  those  losses.  1917  and  '18  were  drought  years 
and  we  made  no  corn.  The  high  price  of  cotton  pulled 
us  through,  but  in  1918  we  bought  the  automobile  and 
that  took  all  of  our  surplus.  1919  was  the  flood  year, 
and  we  made  nothing,  and  you  know  what  happened  to 
us  last  year.  We  had  a  wet  spring  and  had  to  plant  three 
times  to  get  a  stand.  The  seed  rotted  in  the  ground. 
That  made  our  crop  late,  and  by  the  time  we  could  get 
it  on  the  market,  the  price  had  fallen  below  the  cost  of 
production." 

"Yes,  yes,  I  know,  Will,  farming  is  a  hopeless  busi- 
ness, anyway,  isn't  it?" 

Bob  came  in  bringing  the  mail.  His  face  was  bright 
and  animated,  his  gray  eyes  dancing  and  his  blond  hair 
rumpled,  as  he  took  off  his  hat. 

"Here's  the  mail,  Papa,"  he  said.  "I  tell  you  I  had 
a  time  with  Saladin.  He  came  mighty  near  to  stepping  on 
a  big  water-moccasin  in  the  road,  and  I  thought  for  a 
minute  he  was  going  to  get  the  best  of  me  and  run  away, 
he  was  so  scared.  Ha !  ha !  ha !  he  did  run  and  pitch." 

"I  wonder  what  that  old  rascal  of  a  snake  was  doing 
out  in  the  road  this  time  of  day,  hot  as  it  is,"  said 
Mr.  Robertson. 

"Oh,  Will,  what  difference  does  that  make  ?  Just  think, 
Bob  might  have  been  killed!  Bob,  honey,  are  you  sure 
you  are  not  hurt?"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Robertson. 

"Shuckins !  Mama,  I  am  not  a  baby,"  said  Bob. 

"What  did  you  do  with  the  horse?"  asked  Mr.  Rob- 
ertson. 

"I  hitched  him  in  the  shade  out  in  front.  I  had  an  idea 
I'd  ride  over  to  the  big  pasture  and  see  how  that  yearling 


White  and  Black  27 

is  getting  along  that  I  doctored  for  the  screw-worms  yes- 
terday." 

"Not  in  this  heat,  Bob,"  said  Mrs.  Robertson,  "it  is 
enough  to  give  you  a  sunstroke.  Wait  till  the  cool  of  the 
evening." 

"Oh,  Mama,  you  think  I'm  made  out  of — " 

"Mind  your  mother,  Bob,"  said  Mr.  Robertson. 

"Oh,  all  right.  I'll  call  Cyrus  then  to  put  up  the 
horse." 

"No,  you  will  have  to  put  him  up  yourself.  Cyrus  went 
early  this  morning  down  to  the  lower  place  to  carry  some 
wire  to  fix  up  the  fence.  The  cattlemen  have  been  cutting 
the  fence  down  there  again,  and  the  cattle  were  getting 
into  Uncle  Sam  Sparkins's  crop.  I  don't  know  what  we 
are  going  to  do  about  those  fellers  al'ways  cutting  our 
fences." 

"Well,  they  have  been  at  it  for  twenty  years  to  my  cer- 
tain knowledge,"  said  Mrs.  Robertson,  "and  we  never 
have  done  anything  yet  except  fix  the  fence  up  again." 

"That's  pretty  near  true,"  said  Mr.  Robertson.  "But 
what  can  you  do?  Sim  Senter  asked  me  to  let  him  lie 
in  wait  with  a  shotgun  and  shoot  'em." 

"That's  what  I'd  do,  Papa,"  said  Bob. 

"No,"  answered  Mr.  Robertson,  "what  would  happen, 
if  anything,  is  that  some  poor  nigger  would  get  shot. 
The  white  men  are  not  going  around  at  night  cutting 
fences  themselves.  You  know  that.  They  get  some 
nigger  to  do  the  actual  cutting." 

"Well,  why  not  shoot  the  feller  that  does  the  actual 
cutting?"  asked  Bob.  "If  a  few  of  'em  were  shot,  it 
would  be  mighty  hard  for  anybody  to  get  a  nigger  to 
cut  fences  after  that." 


28  White  and  Black 

"Oh,  Papa  is  always  so  tender-hearted  about  niggers," 
said  Mrs.  Robertson. 

"Well,"  answered  Mr.  Robertson,  "I  always  feel  some- 
how that  the  poor  things  can't  help  themselves.  I  get 
mad  at  'em,  they'd  make  a  saint  mad,  but  after  all,  they 
are  so  ignorant  and  childish  and — " 

"And  they  impose  on  you  all  the  time,  and  always  have," 
said  Mrs.  Robertson. 

"Well,  that's  an  old  subject,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  "and 
I  don't  suppose  we'll  break  any  new  ground  on  that  this 
morning.  Run  along,  Bob,  and  put  up  your  horse."  He 
opened  the  morning  paper  that  was  printed  in  their 
nearest  city,  and  immersed  himself  in  its  columns. 

Bob  decided  to  lead  Saladin  through  the  yard  to  the 
horse-lot  in  the  rear,  instead  of  riding  around  the  fence, 
as  the  horse  had  fidgeted  about  until  he  had  gotten  out 
of  the  shade,  and  the  sun  had  made  the  saddle  too  hot 
to  sit  on  comfortably. 

As  he  passed,  the  cook  was  standing  in  the  kitchen  door, 
blowing,  and  fanning  herself  with  the  end  of  her  kitchen 
apron.  She  was  black  and  fat,  and  the  sweat  was  running- 
in  little  shining  streams  down  her  pudgy  cheeks.  She 
was  a  woman  of  about  thirty-five. 

"Hello,  Cindy,  what  are  you  going  to  have  for  dinner  ?" 
asked  Bob. 

"Roas'  beef,"  said  Cindy  in  a  tone  of  great  scorn, 
"dat's  de  main  thing.  I  sho'  does  hate  dat  roas'  beef. 
It  looks  like  Mr.  Will  never  kin  git  enough  roas'  beef." 

"Oh,  roast  beef  is  good  with  the  kind  of  gravy  you 
make,"  said  Bob. 

"Naw,  honey,  gim'me  hog  meat,  gim'me  hog  meat 
eve'y  time.  I  put  a  big  piece  of  bacon  in  wid  de  black- 


White  and  Black  29 

eyed  peas,  an'  dat's  whut  I'm  gwine  to  git.  Naw,  suh,  I 
ain't  gwine  to  be  lef,  not  if  I  knows  myse'f,"  and  she 
laughed  with  a  tumultuous  shaking  of  her  fat  sides  and 
breasts. 

Bob  smiled  and  said,  "Anybody  could  look  at  you  Cindy, 
and  tell  you  never  have  been  left  when  it  conies  to  eating." 

"Naw,  suh,  we's  hyeer  to-day,  and  whar  is  we  to-mor- 
rer,  honey?  Haw,  haw,  haw,  dat's  it,  whar  is  we  to- 
morrer  ?" 

Bob  went  on,  leaving  Cindy  to  the  enjoyment  of  her 
own  wit.  As  he  was  unsaddling  his  horse  in  front  of  the 
barn,  Ella,  Joe  Williams's  youngest  girl,  came  through 
the  lot. 

"Hello,  Ella,  where  are  you  going?"  asked  Bob. 

"Jus'  up  to  de  big  house  to  borry  a  little  salt,"  she  said. 
"Mama's  run  plum  out  of  salt,  and  she  sent  me  up  to 
see  if  I  couldn't  borry  a  little  from  Miss  Cindy.  But 
dey  do  tell'  me,  Mr.  Bob,  dat  you're  goin'  to  college." 

"Yes,  that's  what  they  say,"  answered  Bob. 

"Dat  sho  wuz  a  pretty  medal  dey  give  you  over  to  de 
high  school,  Mr.  Bob,  but  I  ain't  never  had  no  chance  to 
see  it  right  close." 

"Here  it  is,"  said  Bob,  running  his  hand  into  his 
pocket.  "Do  you  want  to  look  at  it?" 

"I  suttinly  does,"  said  Ella,  reaching  out  her  brown, 
shapely  hand,  like  those  of  so  many  colored  women 
seemingly  not  susceptible  to  coarsening  by  toil. 

Bob  put  the  medal  in  her  upturned  palm.  "It's  gold, 
ain't  it,  Mr.  Bob,  sho'  'miff  gold?" 

"Yes,  it's  real  gold,"  said  Bob,  smiling. 

"And  ain't  it  bright  ?  And  it's  got  writin'  on  it.  Lemme 
see,  it  says  you  got  de  highest  grade  of  any  of  de  pupils. 
It  sho'  is  nice  to  be  smart  dat  a  way,  Mr.  Bob." 


JO  White  and  Black 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Bob  proudly,  "maybe  I  just 
had  better  luck." 

"Nunck-unh,  Mr.  Bob,  you're  jes'  like  Mr.  Will. 
You  won't  never  take  nuthin'  to  yo'se'f.  All  de  folks 
say  Mr.  Will  won't  never  take  nuthin'  good  to  hisse'f. 
All  of  us  knows  you  is  de  smartest  boy  dey  is.  But  dis 
sho'  is  a  pretty  medal." 

"Bob!  Bob!"  Mrs.  Robertson's  voice  was  heard  call- 
ing, "dinner  is  ready." 

Ella  handed  the  medal  back,  and  Bob  left  hurriedly 
for  dinner. 

As  he  came  in,  his  father  asked,  "What  were  you 
doing  out  in  the  lot  so  long,  Bob?  Did  you  have  any 
trouble  with  Saladin?" 

"No,  Papa,  Ella  came  along,  and  I  was  just  showing 
.her  my  medal." 

Mr.  Robertson  looked  at  him  keenly,  as  they  took 
their  seats  at  the  table,  then  said,  "I  don't  think  I'd 
be  showing  my  medal'  around  to  niggers." 

"Oh,  there's  no  harm  in  that,  Will,"  said  Mrs.  Rob- 
ertson. "Naturally  Bob  is  proud  of  his  medal." 

"Let  me  manage  this,"  said  Mr.  Robertson  with  un- 
expected heat,  and  Mrs.  Robertson  said  no  more. 

They  finished  the  meal  with  little  more  conversation, 
though  Bob  tried  to  liven  things  up  by  telling  what 
Cindy  had  said  about  the  bacon. 

All  that  afternoon  the  look  his  father  had  given  him 
hung  in  Bob's  mind.  And  that  night  he  saw  again  in  his 
dreams  Ella's  yellowish  pal'm  and  the  bright  medal  lying 
in  it  glistening  in  the  sun. 


CHAPTER  VI 

BOB  was  up  for  six  o'clock  breakfast  with  his  father 
and  mother  next  morning. 

"Well,  Bob,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  "you're  the  early 
bird,  what's  the  worm?" 

"I  really  must  go  over  to  the  big  pasture  to  see  about 
that  yearling,  and  I  thought  I'd  go  before  it  gets  hot, 
Papa,  if  you  don't  want  me  to  go  to  town  for  the 
mail." 

"No,  I  am  going  to  town  myself.  I  want  to  see  Mr. 
Hiram  Shorter  about  John  Ramsey's  account.  John's 
crop  is  so  bad  that  I  don't  want  him  to  run  any  big 
account." 

"Will,  dear,  I  wish  you  would  go  in  the  car.  Sister 
Maxcy  told  me  she  wanted  to  come  and  spend  the  day, 
and  you  can  bring  her  out,"  said  Mrs.  Robertson. 

"Oh,  my  Lord,"  said  Mr.  Robertson.  "Brother  Maxcy 
is  a  good  man,  but  that  woman  nearly  talks  me  to 
death." 

"Now,  Will,  we  haven't  had  either  of  them  here  for 
a  month,"  answered  Mrs.  Robertson. 

"No,  honey,  that's  all  right,  I'll  get  her." 

When  Mr.  Robertson  drove  up  to  the  general  store  of 
Thompson  &  Co.,  Mr.  Hiram  Shorter  was  standing  in 
the  front  door,  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  and  smiling  ex- 
pansively. He  was  head-clerk,  bookkeeper  and  general 
manager.  In  fact  he  was  the  only  clerk,  except  on 
Saturdays  and  around  Christmas.  Henry  Thompson, 


32  White  and  Black 

the  proprietor,  spent  most  of  his  time  in  fishing  and  in 
riding  after  his  cattle  that  ran  loose  on  the  range. 

"Good  morning,  Mr.  Robertson,  come  in,"  he  said  in 
cheery  tones. 

.  "Good  morning,  Mr.  Hiram,  I  thought  I'd  drop  by  to 
see  about  John  Ramsey's  account.  Will  you  please  look 
it  up  for  me.  His  crop's  mighty  poor." 

"John's  not  much  on  the  work,  is  he,  Mr.  Robertson  ?" 

"No,  he  is  the  triflingest  nigger  I've  got." 

"Well,  I  hear  you'll  probably  get  rid  of  him  at  the 
end  of  this  year  anyhow?" 

"How's  that?" 

"Oh,  I  heard  he  was  going  to  move  to  Randy  Shal- 
low's place  this  coming  year." 

"Who  told  you  that?" 

Mr.  Hiram  flushed  a  little.  "Oh,  I  don't  just  re- 
member," he  said.  "Somebody  or  other  was  telling  me." 

"Couldn't  have  been  Rosy,  I  reckon?"  asked  Mr.  Rob- 
ertson. 

"Well,  that's  a  good  one,"  said  Mr.  Hiram,  flushing 
redder  still,  "but  you  know  about  Randy  Shallow  and 
Sally,  looks  like  he  wants  her  nearer  to  hand,"  and  Mr. 
Hiram  laughed. 

"It'll  be  a  good  riddance  for  me,"  answered  Mr.  Rob- 
ertson. "I've  just  let  John  hang  on  year  after  year,  be- 
cause he  said  he  couldn't  get  any  other  place,  and  then 
he  is  such  a  promiser." 

They  had  come  to  the  standing-desk  at  the  rear  of  the 
store,  where  the  books  were  kept.  Mr.  Hiram  turned 
to  John  Ramsey's  account,  added  up  a  column  of  figures 
and  said,  "Oh,  it's  not  bad,  only  about  a  hundred  dol- 
lars." 


White  and  Black  33 

"No,  that's  not  so  bad,  he  may  be  able  to  pay  out  at 
that  rate.  But  I  nearly  always  have  to  pay  something 
for  him  at  the  end  of  every  year." 

"There's  one  thing  certain,"  said  Mr.  Hiram,  "we 
wouldn't  run  him  if  you  didn't  stand  for  him.  He  is  so 
trifling.  But  I've  been  holding  him  down  like  you  told 
me.  I  haven't  let  him  have  near  all  he  wanted." 

"That's  right.  Much  obliged,"  said  Mr.  Robertson. 
"But  they  tell  me,  Mr.  Hiram,  that  you've  been  setting 
up  to  the  little  widow  that  sings  in  the  choir  with  you. 
It  will  be  funny  to  see  you  a  married  man  after  all  these 
years." 

"No,  there's  nothing  to  that,"  answered  Mr.  Hiram, 
flushing  his  reddest.  "You  know  I  never  have  been 
able  to  marry,  and  I  can't  afford  it  now.  But  Henry 
Thompson  asked  me  to  speak  to  you  about  that  little 
farm  he  had  to  take  for  a  bad  debt.  You  know  it's 
just  a  little  ways  east  of  your  place,  over  there  by  Uncle 
Peter  Higgins's  and  the  nigger  church.  Sam  Smither 
turned  it  in  on  his  debt  here  last  year.  And  Henry  says 
if  you'd  like  to  buy  it,  he'd  take  fifteen  hundred  dollars 
for  it,  a  little  cash  and  plenty  of  time  on  the  balance. 
There's  about  fifty  acres  of  it  and  a  pretty  good  house." 

"Yes,  I  know.  Well,  that's  a  pretty  good  buy,  but  as 
you  know,  I'm  short  of  cash  now.  Still,  you  may  tell 
Henry  that  I'll  think  about  it  and  let  him  know." 

"All  right,  thank  you,  Mr.  Will." 

Mr.  Robertson  went  out  of  the  store  thinking,  "Well, 
there  is  something  to  that.  He  never  has  been  able  to 
marry  on  his  small  salary.  If  the  Shorters  hadn't  lost 
all  their  land,  it  might  have  been  different.  And  Mr. 
Hiram  is  a  good  sort  of  fellow,  easy-going,  good-natured 


34  White  and  Black 

and  generous,  too  generous  for  his  own  good.  If  it  wasn't 
for  him,  Henry  Thompson  wouldn't  have  much  business, 
that's  a  cinch.  But  judging  people  is  a  bad  business,  any- 
way. Who  knows,  if  it  hadn't  been  for  the  land  that 
was  left  me,  and  Mamie — " 

He  found  Sister  Maxcy  ready  and  waiting  on  the 
parsonage  porch.  She  was  a  spry  woman,  if  somewhat 
fat,  and  punctuality  was  one  of  her  principal  virtues. 
She  was  a  great  talker.  The  Baptists  called  her  a  gossip, 
but  the  Methodists  stood  up  for  her  valiantly  in  any 
interdenominational  parley,  as  her  husband  was  the 
Methodist  minister.  In  talking  strictly  among  themselves, 
however,  the  Methodists  were  not  quite  so  loyal. 

All'  of  the  way  to  the  farm  her  monologue  held  on 
continually,  except  when  Mr.  Robertson  felt  it  abso- 
lutely incumbent  on  him  to  say,  "Yes'm"  or  "No'm"  or 
"I'll  declare!"  She  had  told  Brother  Maxcy  that  she 
liked  Mr.  Robertson  best  of  all  the  stewards,  because  he 
was  such  a  good  listener. 

Mr.  Robertson's  thoughts  were  still  running  on  Mr. 
Hiram  Shorter.  And  in  his  mind  was  a  clear  picture  of 
Mr.  Hiram's  short,  pudgy  figure,  and  kindly,  if  some- 
what sensual',  face.  And  it  came  to  him  how  animated 
and  boyish  was  the  face  of  the  shabby  man  of  forty-four 
when  he  would  talk  about  his  heroes  of  fiction,  of  whom 
David  Harum  was  his  favorite,  for  Mr.  Hiram  was  a 
reader  of  novels  as  well  as  a  singer  in  the  Methodist 
choir.  "And  ever  since  I've  known  him,  everybody  has 
called  him  'Mister  Hiram,'  never  plain  'Hiram'  nor 
'Shorter,'  while  nobody  but  the  niggers  calls  his  boss 
anything  except  'Hen'  or  'Henry.'  And  how  cheerfully 
he  volunteered  for  the  war,  although  he  never  did  get 


White  and  Black  35 

across  the  sea!  And  I  don't  know  what  we  would  do 
about  burying  people  if  it  wasn't  for  him,"  ran  Mr. 
Robertson's  thoughts. 

When  they  reached  the  house,  Mrs.  Robertson,  after 
greeting  Sister  Maxcy,  said,  "Will,  Madison  Mulberry  is 
here  to  see  you  from  the  lower  place." 

"Well,  let  him  wait  till  after  dinner,"  answered  Mr. 
Robertson,  "I'm  going  to  read  the  paper  now  out  on 
the  front  porch,  and  let  you  and  Sister  Maxcy  have  a 
good  talk." 

In  the  big  pasture  at  the  north  end  of  the  farm  Bob 
was  sitting  on  a  fallen  log,  in  the  shade  of  an  elm  tree, 
fanning  himself  with  his  hat.  "My,  that  was  a  hot 
job,"  he  said. 

It  had  taken  him  some  time  to  find  the  yearling,  which 
had  gone  off  to  itself  in  a  clump  of  bushes.  And  then  he 
had  discovered  that  the  animal'  needed  to  be  doctored 
again,  so  he  had  to  drive  it  out  into  the  open,  rope  it, 
and  tie  its  feet  before  he  could  put  the  chresyllic  oint- 
ment and  cotton  into  the  sore  that  the  worms  had  made. 
Saladin  had  not  been  well  trained  as  a  cow-pony,  so  it 
was  a  troublesome  business  for  Bob  to  manage  it  all  by 
himself. 

As  he  sat  on  the  log  he  thought,  "Sister  Maxcy  is  talk- 
ing Mama's  ear  off,  I  know,  and  I  don't  care  if  I 
don't  get  back  till  dinner  time.  I  believe  I'll  take  a  dip 
in  the  swimmin'  hole." 

John  Ramsey's  field  was  separated  from  the  pasture 
by  the  railroad,  and  near  where  the  latter  crossed  Berry 
Creek,  the  western  boundary  of  the  farm,  the  stream 
widened  into  a  large  hole  of  water  that  was  deep  enough 
for  swimming.  It  was  only  a  short  distance  from  where 


36  White  and  Black 

Bob  was  sitting,  so  he  hitched  Saladin  to  a  convenient 
sapling,  walked  to  the  creek,  slipped  off  his  clothes,  and 
plunged  in. 

"Unh,  this  feels  good,"  he  said,  as  he  dived  and  lunged 
and  splashed  about.  "I'll  swim  from  this  end  of  the  pool 
and  back  again,  just  to  see  if  I  can  do  it." 

He  swam  noisily  lifting  his  feet  out  of  the  water  with' 
their  every  stroke,  so  the  "Chunk !  Chunk"  of  his  progress 
could  be  heard  at  a  distance  on  the  calm  summer  morn- 
ing. 

Sally  was  hoeing  in  John  Ramsey's  cotton  field.  She 
raised  her  head,  listening  for  a  moment,  then  dropped 
her  hoe,  crawled  through  the  right-of-way  fence,  and 
began  to  climb  the  railroad  dump.  One  of  John's  small 
boys  who  was  working  in  the  field  with  her,  cried  out, 
"Where're  you  goin',  Sally?" 

She  turned,  motioned,  "Sh!"  to  him  with  her  finger 
across  her  lips,  surmounted  the  dump  and  descended  into 
the  bushes  on  the  other  side. 

The  boy's  first  impulse  was  to  yell',  "Pappy,  pappy/' 
to  John,  who  was  working  in  the  near-by  cornfield, 
"Sally's  done  dropped  her  hoe  and  gone  off."  But  on 
second  thought  he  reflected,  "Nunck-unh,  maybe  I'll  git 
somep'n  ner  out  of  Sally  for  keepin'  quiet." 

Bob  swam  around  and  splashed  about  for  a  few; 
minutes  till  he  was  cool,  and  then  came  out  of  the  water 
and  sat  down  on  the  grass  in  a  shady  spot  to  dry  off 
somewhat  before  putting  on  his  clothes  again.  As  he  sat 
there,  by  some  chance  his  mind  began  to  run  on  Minnie 
Deane.  "I  wonder  if  she  really  likes  me,"  he  thought. 
"A  feller  never  can  tell.  But,  my-oh-my,  what  if  she 
knew  I  was  sitting  here  this  a  way  thinking  about  her !" 

He  blushed  at  the  idea,  and  hastened  to  dress. 


White  and  Black  37 

As  he  rode  across  the  railway  and  entered  the  cotton- 
field,  Sally  was  at  the  near  end  of  a  row,  hoeing  away 
industriously,  her  back  turned  to  Bob,  but  she  was  sing- 
ing as  if  to  herself : 

"I  went  across  de  railroad  track 
I  went  across  de  railroad  track 
And  I  couldn't  hardly  come  back 
Arid  I  couldn't  hardly  come  back 
'Cause  whut  did  I  see? 
'Cause  whut  did  I  see?" 

At  her  first  words  Bob  had  halted  Saladin,  partly  out 
of  curiosity  and  partly  because  he  liked  to  hear  Negroes 
sing  at  their  work. 

Then,  "The  slut !"  he  said  to  himself,  and  rode  on  with- 
out giving  any  sign  that  he  had  heard  her,  but  with  a  dis- 
quieting mixture  in  his  mind  of  shame  and  anger  and 
something  else. 

As  he  was  coming  into  the  house,  his  father,  sitting  on 
the  porch,  asked  him,  "Son,  did  you  see  any  of  John's 
folks  in  the  field  when  you  passed  by?" 

"Yes,  Papa,  John  was  working  in  the  corn,  and  two  or 
three  of  his  little  boys  were  chopping  out  the  cotton." 

"Wasn't  either  of  the  girls  there?" 

"Yes,  I  believe  one  of  'em  was,  now  that  I  come  to 
think  about  it." 

"Sally,  I  reckon,"  said  Mr.  Robertson. 

"Yes,  I  think  it  was  Sally,"  said  Bob. 

His  father  resumed  his  reading,  and  Bob  went  on  into 
the  house,  wondering  why  he  hadn't  said  outright  at 
first  that  it  was  Salty. 

As  he  passed  the  sitting-room  door,  his  mother  called 
to  him.  "Son,  come  and  speak  to  Sister  Maxcy." 

Bob  stood  in  the  doorway  and  said,  "Good  morning, 


38  White  and  Black 

Sister  Maxcy,  I  hope  you  and  Brother  Maxcy  are  well." 

"Yes,  ttyank  you,  we  are  well,  but  my !  what  a  big  young 
man  you've  gotten  to  be.  Come  in  and  let  me  get  a  good 
look  at  you.  I  expect  I'll  have  to  begin  calling  you  Mister 
Bob  soon." 

"I  was  just  going  upstairs  to  change  my  clothes,"  said 
Bob,  "I'm  a  sight.  I  got  powerful  dirty  out  in  the  pasture 
wrestling  with  that  yearling." 

"Yes,  son,  I  expect  you  had  better  run  along  and 
change,"  said  his  mother,  to  Bob's  great  relief. 

As  he  left,  Sister  Maxcy  resumed  her  discourse  where 
it  was  interrupted  by  his  appearance.  "Yes,  as  I  was  a- 
saying,  Mister  Maxcy  is  always  making  excuses  for 
people.  I  say  a  sinner  is  a  sinner  and  they  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  themselves.  Why,  just  look  around  you, 
mighty  near  all  of  the  young  people  gone  to  dancing  and 
card-playing,  and  ten  divorces  in  the  county  at  the  last 
term  of  court.  Why,  they  tell  me  that  some  of  the  official 
members  let  card-playing  go  on  right  in  their  houses, 
and—" 

"Well,  not  in  this  house,"  said  Mrs.  Robertson. 

"No,  no,  honey,  of  course  not.  I  know  that  all  of  this 
household  have  been  gloriously  saved  and  rest  in  the 
Lord,  but  there's  Brother  Watkins  and  Brother  Samuel 
Deane.  True,  Jasper  Deane,  his  brother,  Minnie's  father, 
is  very  different  and  strict  enough.  But  Brother  Watkins 
and  Samuel  Deane — what  do  you  say  to  them? — and  just 
think  of  Mr.  Hiram  Shorter,  he's  not  an  official  member, 
I  know,  but  think  of  him  sitting  up  there  singing  in  the 
choir !" 

"But  maybe  all  of  those  stories  about  him  are  not  true. 
He  certainly  is  a  mighty  nice  man,  and  Will  thinks  a 
lot  of  him,"  interjected  Mrs.  Robertson. 


White  and  Black  39 

"True?"  exclaimed  Sister  Maxcy,  "true?  What  about 
Rosy  Ramsey?  Everybody  knows  about  that.  It  is  the 
common  talk  of  the  town,  and  there  he  stands  a-smirking 
and  a-smiling  and  a-carrying  on  with  all  of  the  women, 
white  and  black,  that  come  into  the  store." 

"Now,  Sister  Maxcy,  isn't  'carrying  on'  a  little  strong? 
I  go  into  the  store,  and  he  doesn't  carry  on  with  me.  But 
what  about  Rosy?" 

"Haven't  you  heard,  and  the  thing  right  here  under 
your  nose,  Sister  Robertson !  Well,  John  Ramsey  is  going 
to  be  a  grand-daddy  again  mighty  soon,  and  who's  re- 
sponsible? Tell  me  that.  Everybody  knows  it's  no 
other  than  Mister  Hiram  Shorter,  the  singer  in  our  choir. 
And  what  do  you  reckon  Mister  Maxcy  says,  and  him  a 
preacher  of  the  gospel  and  my  husband,  why,  he  says 
you  must  always  try  to  understand  the  why  and  maybe 
then  you  can  forgive  the  sin  and  love  the  sinner.  But  no, 
not  me,  I'm  not  going  around  loving  sinners,  and  God 
don't  forgive  'em  unless  they  repent  and  forsake  their 
evil  ways,  why  should  I  be  expected  to  forgive  'em?" 

"But  what  does  Brother  Maxcy  say  about  Mr.  Hiram?" 
asked  Mrs.  Robertson. 

"He  says  understand  the  why.  And  the  why  is  that 
Mr.  Hiram  Shorter  comes  of  good  people  that  have  lost 
their  money  and  he  is  easy-going  and  has  always  worked 
for  a  small  salary  and  he  never  has  had  the  heart  to  ask 
a  white  woman  to  marry  him  and  sacrifice  the  way  she 
would  have  to  sacrifice,  and  so — .  But  I  tell  him,  didn't 
I  sacrifice  now,  and  then  he  says  people  are  different, 
and  I  say,  well',  why  couldn't  he  go  on  just  being  a 
bachelor  like  St.  Paul  or  somebody,  and  he  says  mind 
what  he  tells  me,  Mr.  Hiram  Shorter  will  give  his  heart 
to  God  yet  and  become  a  good  Christian,  and  the  thing 


40  White  and  Black 

to  do  is  not  to  drive  him  out  of  the  choir,  because  maybe 
that's  the  yery  thing  that's  going  to  lead  him  to  salvation. 
Think  of  old  Hiram  Shorter  singing  his  way  to  salvation 
on  Sunday  and  prayer-meeting  night,  and  where  is  he 
other  nights?  Tell  me  that.  It  makes  me  sick.  And 
what  if  my  folks  were  always  poor,  what  has  that  got 
to  do  with  it?  Why  does  Mr.  Maxcy  have  to  tell  me 
that?" 

"Maybe  he  means,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Robertson,  "that 
probably  you  wouldn't  understand  so  well  what  Mr. 
Hiram  would  think  a  wife  ought  to  have.  You  know, 
honey,  it's  no  disgrace  to  be  poor,  and  maybe  it's  some- 
thing like  that  he  means." 

"There  you  go,  Sister  Robertson,  taking  up  for  that 
Mister  Hiram,  like  all'  the  other  women — " 

"No,  no,  honey,  I  just  mean  to  say  that  Brother  Maxcy 
is  a  mighty  good  man,  and — " 

"Good !  yes,  he's  good  enough.  But  did  you  ever  think, 
Sister  Robertson,  what  it  means  to  live  twenty  years 
with  a  man  that  everybody  is  always  saying  about  him, 
he  is  a  saint?" 

"No,  I  couldn't  say  that  I  have,"  answered  Mrs.  Rob- 
ertson. "Will  is  a  good  man,  but  of  course  he  gets  mad 
sometimes  and  sometimes  maybe  he  tells  me  fibs,  and — " 

"And  there,  that's  just  it,"  said  Sister  Maxcy,  "you 
get  some  relief.  Sometimes  I  feel  like  being  desperately 
wicked  just  because  I  get  so  tired  of  hearing  people 
say  Brother  Maxcy  is  a  mighty  good  man.  And  then 
folks  don't  understand  me,  and  they  say  I'm  a  vixen  and 
a  gossip,  and  all  sorts  of  things.  And  I  love  Mr.  Maxcy, 
too.  But  what  do  you  reckon  he  says  about  Henry 
Thompson  that  owns  the  store?" 


White  and  Black  41- 

"I  don't  know.  What  does  he  say  ?"  asked  Mrs.  Rob- 
ertson. 

"Well,  he  says  the  root  of  his  sin  is  that  he  is  bash- 
ful, just  bashful.  Says  inwardly  he  is  the  shyest  man 
he  ever  knew  and  has  the  lowest  opinion  of  himself.  I 
should  think  he  ought  to  have  the  lowest  opinion  of  him- 
self, living  openly  with  that  nigger  woman,  the  black, 
brazen  thing,  with  a  yard  full  of  Henry  Thompson's  chil- 
dren, and  flaunting  around  that  store  like  she  was  as 
good  as  any  white  lady  in  town.  But  Mr.  Maxcy  says 
Henry  Thompson  started  out  with  being  so  bashful  and 
having  such  a  contempt  for  himself  that  he  didn't  dare 
to  raise  his  eyes  to  a  white  woman,  that  what  he  needed 
was  encouragement  and  heartening  up,  and  that  he  didn't 
get  it,  and  so  he  just  drifted  into  the  ways  of  the  baser 
sort  around  him  and  got  in  worse  and  deeper  on  account 
of  his  very  bashful'ness.  Now,  what  do  you  think  of 
that !" 

"I  tell  you,  I  hate  to  say  it  again,  Sister  Maxcy,  but 
that  makes  me  believe  Brother  Maxcy  must  be  a  mighty 
good  man,"  said  Mrs.  Robertson,  smiling. 

"Yes,  I  tell  him  he  thinks  with  his  heart  instead  of  his 
head,  and  a  mighty  soft  heart  it  is,"  said  Sister  Maxcy, 
"and  that's  the  reason  why  he  never  has,  in  all  these  years, 
got  a  real  good  appointment.  Why  plenty  of  preachers 
that  haven't  got  his  education  are  holding  down  big  city 
pulpits  in  this  very  Conference  right  now.  And  where 
is  he  ?  Always  stuck  out  in  the  country,  where  his  wife 
has  to  speak  to  such  people  as  that  low-down  Henry 
Thompson  and  listen  to  Mr.  Hiram  Shorter  sing  in  the 
choir !" 

Sister  Maxcy's  indignation  might  have  led  her  into 
some  extreme,  if  black  Cindy  had  not  stuck  her  head  in 


42  White  and  Black 

the  door  and  said,  "Miss  Mamie,  kin  you  come  hyeer 
a  minute?" 

Mrs.  Robertson  excused  herself  and  went  out  with 
Cindy  to  see  about  some  final  touches  to  the  midday 
meal.  And  Sister  Maxcy  picked  up  her  sewing  again, 
pushing  the  needle  into  the  cloth  with  little  dabs  that 
were  almost  vicious. 


CHAPTER  VII 

AFTER  dinner  was  finished  and  the  ladies  had  gone  up- 
stairs for  their  afternoon  nap,  Mr.  Robertson  went  to 
the  back  porch  to  find  out  what  Madison  Mulberry 
wanted.  Madison  talked  loudly  and  positively  and  had 
rather  a  savage  look,  indeed  it  was  said  that  there  was 
some  Indian  blood  in  his  veins.  He  had  the  reputation 
of  being  "a  bad  nigger,"  but  he  was  a  pretty  good  worker, 
and  as  he  was  living  on  the  lower  place  when  Mr.  Rob- 
ertson inherited  it,  and  always  seemed  to  have  had  a 
genuine  affection  for  Mr.  Robertson's  father,  Mr.  Rob- 
ertson had  put  up  with  much  annoyance  from  him  and 
allowed  him  to  stay. 

"Well,  Madison,"  he  asked,  "have  you  had  your  din- 
ner?" 

"Yassuh,  Mr.  Will,  Sister  Cindy  give  me  some  black- 
eyed  peas  and  cawn-bread,"  said  Madison  scornfully. 

"Look'ee  hyeer,  nigger,"  broke  in  Cindy  from  the 
kitchen  door,  "you  ain't  sayin'  nuthin'  'bout  dat  bacon 
you  et  up  away  from  me  and  Cyrus,  an'  dat  whole  slab 
of  peach  pie." 

"Waal,  I  believe  dey  wuz  a  smidget  of  bacon  an'  a 
thumbnail'  of  pie,"  admitted  Madison  ungraciously. 

"Haw !  haw !  haw !"  laughed  Cyrus  vociferously,  who 
was  standing  on  the  porch  near  Cindy. 

"There,  that  will  do,  Cindy,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  "and 
Cyrus,  you  go  on  and  get  to  work  in  that  melon  patch." 

Cindy  turned  into  the  kitchen  muttering,  "I  ain't  gwine 

43 


44  White  and  Black 

to  have  no  low-down,  cawn-fiel'  nigger  a-lyin'  'bout  me." 

"That  ,will  do,  Cindy,"  Mr.  Robertson  repeated,  "and 
now,  Madison,  what  do  you  want?" 

"I  wants  some  money,  dat's  whut  I  wants." 

"What  do  you  want  money  for?" 

"Waal,  you  knows,  Mr.  Will,  de  Juneteenth  is  mighty 
nigh  hyeer.  An'  I  ain't  got  a  frazzlin'  cent." 

"It's  over  a  week  till  the  nineteenth,  and  if  I  were 
to  give  you  any  money,  you  would  spend  it  before  that 
time  and  be  asking  for  more." 

"My  ole  'ooman  say  she  got  to  have  a  new  dress,  an* 
she  got  to  have  time  to  make  it.  She  ain't  got  nuthin'  to 
wear  to  de  celebration." 

"Where  is  the  celebration  going  to  be  this  year,  Mad- 
ison? The  nineteenth  comes  on  Sunday  anyway." 

"John  Ramsey  say  he  gwine  to  git  up  a  celebration  an* 
have  it  on  Saturday  an'  ax  you  for  de  little  paschur'  to 
have  it  in." 

"Well,  he  hasn't  said  anything  to  me  about  it." 

"Naw,  suh,  but  he  is  gwine  to.  He  said  you  wuz  sorter 
mad  de  las'  time  he  seed  you." 

"I  was.  It  was  enough  to  make  anybody  mad.  I  tell 
you  what  I'll  do,  Madison,  I'll  give  you  a  note  to  Mr. 
Hiram  Shorter,  telling  him  to  let  your  old  woman  have 
the  materials  for  a  dress." 

"And  no  money?  Ain't  you  gwine  to  gim'me  no 
money  ?" 

"Well,  you  know  you  came  out  behind  last  year,  and 
I  want  to  hold  you  down,  so  you  will  at  least  come  out 
even  this  year  if  you  can." 

"Waal,  tell  me  dis,  wouldn't  I  come  out  if  it  hadn't 
ha'  been  for  dat  ar  ten  per  cent.?  Jes'  tell  me  dat?  I 
knows  all  about  dat  ten  per  cent,  de  sto'-keepers  adds  on 


White  and  Black  45 

for  de  landlords.  You  can't  fool  me,  Mr.  Will,  nunck- 
unh,  you  can't  fool  me." 

"I'm  not  trying  to  fool  you,  and  I  think  maybe  you 
would  have  just  about  come  out  if  it  hadn't  been  for  that 
ten  per  cent.  But  do  you  think  I'm  going  to  stand  good 
for  all  you  niggers  for  nothing?" 

"Waal,  don't  you  git  de  rent,  a  f o'th  of  de  cotton  and  a 
third  of  de  cawn?  Whut  do  you  call  dat?" 

"I  call  that  impudence,  that's  what  I  call  it.  You  get 
out  of  here  and  get  quick.  Find  you  some  other  place  to 
live  on.  You  don't  get  anything  from  me."  And  Mr. 
Robertson  walked  into  the  house. 

"Papa,"  said  Bob,  who  was  sitting  in  the  hall  as  Mr. 
Robertson  came  in,  "oughtn't  you  to  hit  him  over  the 
head  with  a  scantling?  Let  me,  I'll  go  out  there  and 
beat  him  up." 

"Shut  up,"  said  Mr.  Robertson  angrily.  "When  I  need 
your  advice  or  help  I'll  call  on  you.  Go  upstairs,  and 
go  to  sleep." 

Bob,  crestfallen,  began  to  mount  the  stairs,  and  Mr. 
Robertson  walked  testily  into  the  sitting-room,  where  for 
some  moments  he  paced  back  and  forth  excitedly.  Then 
he  dropped  into  a  chair  at  his  desk  and  sat  with  drawn 
brows,  thinking,  "It  must  be  that  I  am  afraid  of  Madison, 
afraid  of  a  nigger !  I  could  take  a  gun  and  go  over  there 
to-morrow  and  kill  him  or  beat  him  up.  I  wonder  if  that 
don't  explain  why  many  niggers — and  white  men,  too — 
are  shot.  The  shooter  is  scared,  the  one  shot  is  the 
stronger  man.  Anyhow,  I've  got  to  go  over  there  to- 
morrow, and  I've  got  to  take  Bob  with  me. 

"Or  it  may  be  that  I  think  the  ten  per  cent,  is  wrong 
and  that  makes  a  coward  out  of  me.  Well,  yes,  that 
may  be.  But  every  year  some  of  them  come  out  behind, 


46  White  and  Black 

and  if  it  wasn't  for  the  ten  per  cent,  where  would  I  be? 
But  that's  really  putting  a  penalty  on  the  good  workers 
to  make  up  for  the  laziness  of  the  shiftless.  There's  no 
disguising  that.  Well,  I'll  talk  it  over  with  Mamie  and 
maybe  with  Brother  Maxcy." 

"Bob !"  he  called,  "Bob !  Let's  go  fishing." 
"All  right,  Papa,"  cried  Bob,  delighted,  and  came  rush- 
ing down  the  stairs.  He  had  been  sitting  in  his  room 
trying  to  reconcile  his  idea  of  his  father's  heroism  with 
the  incident  he  had  just  witnessed.  And  he  had  been 
having  trouble.  But  now  the  thing  would  be  explained. 

As  he  reached  the  foot  of  the  stairway,  his  father 
said,  "Come  on,  let's  get  the  tackle.  Your  mother  said 
she  wanted  to  drive  into  town  this  evening,  so  she  can 
take  Sister  Maxcy  home." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

JOHN  RAMSEY  was  waking  up  his  oldest  boy,  aged  thir- 
teen, who  was  taking  a  noon-day  nap  on  the  uneven 
boards  of  the  porch  floor.  "Git  up,  Tom,  git  up,"  he  was 
saying,  "we  got  to  go  to  de  fiel'.  Come  on,  all  you  chil- 
lun." 

"But  it's  so  hot,  Pappy,"  said  Tom,  "less  wait  a  while." 

"Git  up  from  dar,"  said  John,  "you  lazy  hound !" 

"Whut's  de  rush,  Papa?"  asked  Sally  from  where  she 
leaned  back  in  a  chair  against  the  wall. 

"We  all  got  to  git  de  crop  cleaned  out  good  if  we 
gwine  to  git  Mr.  Will  to  loan  me  de  little  paschur  for  de 
celebration." 

"Oh,  you  know  he  ain't  gwine  to  loan  it  to  no  low- 
down,  triflin'  nigger  like  you  is,"  said  Liza,  his  wife,  an 
emaciated  mulatto  with  the  curious  sort  of  pallor  on  her 
face  that  consumptive  Negroes  show. 
.  "Why  don't  you  ax  Mr.  Joe  Williams  to  ax  him  for 
you  ?"  said  Rosy.  "Mr.  Will'll  do  mighty  nigh  anything 
for  Mr.  Williams." 

"Hunh,  dat  ain't  so  bad,  Rosy.  I  believes  I  will  speak 
to  Brother  Williams  about  de  matter.  Me  an'  him  kin 
put  our  heads  togedder  an*  solve  de  problem." 

"Solve  yo'  foot,"  said  Liza.  "You  ain't  never  solved 
nuthin'  yit." 

"Jes'  watch  me,"  said  Sally,  "I'll  git  Mr.  Bob  to  git  him 
to  loan  it  to  us." 

"Hunh,  Mr.  Bob  wouldn't  wipe  his  foot  on  you,"  said 
Rosy. 

47 


48  White  and  Black 

"Wouldn't,  hunh?  Well,  never  you  min'.  I  seen  Mr. 
Bob  dis  mawnin'  an'  he  seen  me,"  said  Sally,  tittering. 

"You  seen  him  ride  thoo  de  fiel',  dat's  how  you  seen 
him." 

"Well,  nemmine,"  retorted  Sally,  "I  knows  whut  I 
knows,  an'  it's  somep'n  you  ain't  gwine  to  find  out." 

"Whut  you  gim'me,  Sally,  not  to  tell?"  asked  Tom. 

"Shut  up  yo'  mouth,  Tom,  you  don't  know  nuthin'." 
But  Sally  made  a  private  sign  to  him. 

"Git  a  move  on  you,"  said  Liza,  "all  of  you.  You  got 
to  git  dat  crop  clean.  Dat's  de  bes'  an'  de  onliest  way 
to  git  de  loan  of  dat  paschur,  an'  we  boun'  to  have  dat 
celebration.  Some  other  nigger'll  git  ahead  of  us  if  we 
don't  send  de  word  around  pretty  quick."  But  there 
was  another  hope  in  her  eyes  as  she  looked  at  Sally. 

"Waal,  why  can't  you  come  out  dar  an'  he'p  us,  sorter 
loan  us  yo'  assistance?"  asked  John. 

"Whut !  in  dis  hot  sun !"  exclaimed  Liza.  "Nigger,  you 
know  I  been  too  po'ly  for  de  longes'  to  'spose  myse'f  to 
de  sun." 

"You  ain't  been  too  po'ly  to  'spose  yose'f  to  de  moon- 
shine," said  John  with  some  spirit. 

"Waal,  come  on,"  said  Sally,  "an'  less  git  at  it." 

"Pappy,"  asked  Tom,  "ain't  dis  de  'mancipation  cele- 
bration." 

"Dat's  whut  it  is,"  answered  John. 

"Waal,  how  come  it — " 

"Waal,  you  see  all  of  us  cullud  people  used  to  be 
slaves  'long  fo'  de  war.  An'  some  of  dem  white  folks 
up  nawth,  dey  got  tired  of  seein*  we  all  b'longin'  to  our 
white  folks,  'cause  dey  say  dey  ain't  treatin'  us  right, 
and  dey  makin'  too  much  money  outen  us.  So  Abe 
Linkum  and  Gin'ral  Grant  an'  George  Washington — 


White  and  Black  49 

an'  I  speck  Stonewall  Jackson  wuz  dar  too — dey  got  to- 
gedder,  an'  dey  say,  'less  set  de  niggers  free,  dey  ain't 
doin'  us  no  good  whar  dey  is,  an'  if  we  sets  'em  free, 
maybe  some  of  'em  will  come  up  nawth  an'  work  for  us.' 
And,  'So  mote  it  be,'  said  de  rest  of  'em. 

"An'  den  de  mogrification  of  de  niggers  sot  in,  an* 
kep'  agoin',  spite  of  all  our  white  folks  down  hyeer  could 
do.  When  you  want  to  know  somep'n,  son,  jes'  ax  yo* 
pappy." 

"But  in  de  reader  at  de  school  house  it  say  de  cullud 
folks  wuz  sot  free  in  Jinuary.  And  hyeer  we  is  havin* 
de  celebration  in  June.  How  come  dat?" 

"Waal,  you  see,  our  white  folks  down  hyeer  dey  knowed 
better'n  dat.  Dey  said,  'No,  we  ain't  gwine  to  have  it 
in  Jinuary,  'cause  whut's  de  use?  De  niggers  can't  have 
no  celebration  in  Jinuary,  it's  too  cold,  we  gwine  to  put 
it  in  June,  so's  dey'll  be  some  sense  to  it." 

"But,"  said  Sally,  "dat  can't  be,  'cause  I  read  myse'f 
dat  it  wuz  in  de  whole  Newnited  States  at  de  same  time." 

"In  de  Newnited  States,  yas,"  answered  John,  "but 
you  see,  Sally,  dis  hyeer  is  Texas,  an'  Texas  is  mighty 
diffunt  from  dem  Newnited  States." 

"Unh-hunh,"  said  Liza,  "I  been  tellin'  de  chillun  all 
de  time  dat  dis  hyeer  is  Texas." 

"Yes,"  said  Rosy,  "eve'ybody  knows  it's  Texas,  'cep- 
pin',  maybe,  Sally,  an'  she's  so  smart  twell  she  don't 
know  nuthin'." 

"Nemmine,"  answered  Sally,  "I  knows  somep'n  you 
don'  know  and  you  ain't  gwine  to  find  out." 

"Humph !"  answered  Rosy  with  a  toss  of  her  head. 

"But  whar  we  gwine  to  git  de  money  to  buy  de  'f resh- 
ments  for  dat  celebration?"  asked  Liza. 

"Mr.  Tony  Peters  say  he'll  let  me  have  forty  dollars 


50  White  and  Black 

on  my  team,"  answered  John,  "an'  you  watch  me,  I'll 
git  ten  dollars  mo'  outen  Mr.  Will.  Dat'll  buy  a  couple 
of  shotes  and  a  yearlin'  for  de  bobbycue,  an'  it'll  leave 
over  plenty  for  de  trimmin's." 

"But  whut  if  it  rains?"  asked  Rosy.  "It  always  do  rain 
on  Juneteenth." 

"Dat's  jes'  de  way  of  it,"  said  John.  "Somebody  is  al- 
ways a-th'owin'  cold  water  on  eve'ything  I  does." 

Tom  broke  out  in  a  boisterous  laugh. 

"Whut's  de  matter  wid  you?"  asked  John,  turning  on 
him  fiercely. 

"Dey  sho'  will  be  a-pourin'  cold  water  on  it  if  it  rains," 
said  Tom,  "haw,  haw,  haw !" 

"Shut  up,  nigger,  I'll  bus'  you  head  open  wid  a  swin- 
gle-tree." And  then  he  continued  in  a  milder  voice,  "If 
it  don't  rain,  I'll  sell  dem  fifty  dollars'  wuth  of  reefresh- 
ments  for  mighty  nigh  a  hunderd  an'  fifty  dollars.  Dat's 
whut  it  is  to  be  smart  an'  befo-handed !" 

"Waal,"  said  Liza,  mollified  by  the  bright  financial 
prospect,  "git  along  out  to  de  fiel',  all  of  you,  an'  if  I 
ain't  feelin'  too  po'ly  I'll  come  out  an'  he'p  you  myse'f 
to'ards  de  middle  of  de  evenin'." 

On  the  way  to  the  field  John  said  to  Sally,  "Nunck-unh, 
Sally,  I  ain't  gwine  to  cawnsult  wid  Brother  Williams. 
He's  too  havin'.  De  fus'  thing  I  know  he'll  have  dis 
hyeer  celebration  for  hisse'f,  if  I  say  too  much  to  him 
about  it.  Dey  say  he's  a  power  in  prayer  over  to  de 
Babtis'  church,  but  I  been  studyin'  'bout  dat,  an'  it's  'cause 
he's  tryin'  to  git  so  much  outen  de  Lawd.  He  fair  wras- 
tles  at  de  throne  of  grace  a-tryin*  to  thow  sand  in  de  eyes 
of  de  Lawd,  but  he  can't  fool  me,  nunck-unh !" 

"Dat's  whut  Rosy  said  anyhow,"  answered  Sally.  "I 
wouldn't  pay  no  'tention  to  it.  An'  look  at  dem  Wil- 


White  and  Black  51 

liams  gals.  Dey  turns  up  dey  noses  ever  time  dey  see 
me  and  Rosy.  Nunck-unh,  dey's  too  good !  But  if  some- 
p'n  ner  ain't  gwine  on  'tween  dat  long,  black  Babtis' 
preacher  an'  Lucindy,  den  I  miss  my  guess." 

"You  reckon?"  asked  John  with  lively  interest. 

"I'm  mighty  nigh  sho'  of  it,"  answered  Sally.  "And 
besides  I  done  started  to  workin'  on  Mr.  Bob." 

"Waal,"  said  John,  "we  got  to  start  to  workin'  on  dis 
hyeer  fiel'  now,  an'  dat's  all  dey  is  to  it." 


CHAPTER  IX 

THAT  night  after  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Robertson  had  retired 
to  their  bed-room,  he  said,  "Mamie,  I've  been  thinking 
about  that  ten  per  cent,  that  the  merchants  add  on  to  the 
tenants'  accounts  for  us  landlords,  and  I  have  been  won- 
dering if  it  is  right." 

"Goodness  alive,  Will!"  she  exclaimed,  "you  are  not 
thinking  of  knocking  that  off,  when  we  need  money 
so  badly  and  are  trying  to  send  Bob  to  college  ?" 

"Well,  no,  but  I've  just  been  wondering  if  it  is  right." 

"When  you  begin  to  wonder  if  a  thing  is  right,  Will, 
I  know  what  you  are  getting  ready  to  do.  All  the  other 
landlords  add  it  on,  don't  they?  And  look  what  you 
have  lost  on  the  niggers  as  it  is.  Everybody  says  that 
the  trouble  with  you  is  that  you  are  too  good  to  the 
hands.  And  they  don't  appreciate  it.  Do  they  work  any 
better  for  you  than  they  do  for  anybody  else  ?  No.  And 
you  are  always  giving  them  something,  and  knocking  off 
here  and  making  allowance  there,  until  there  is  mighty 
little  left  for  us." 

"But,  Mamie,  don't  you  think  it  is  putting  a  penalty 
on  the  good  workers  for  the  laziness  of  the  trifling 
ones  ?" 

"Oh,  it  may  be.  I  don't  know,  but  we  get  little  enough 
as  it  is.  And  they  ought  to  pay  something  to  have  you 
stand  for  them.  Why  don't  you  quit  standing  for  them, 
anyway  ?" 

"Well,  I've  thought  about  that,"  said  Mr.  Robertson, 
"but  you  know  they  would  have  the  greatest  trouble  get- 

52 


White  and  Black  53 

ting  any  credit  at  all  then.  And  many  times  when  the 
crops  don't  look  good,  the  merchants  don't  let  'em  have 
half  enough  to  eat.  And  then  there's  always  trouble  in 
settling  up  at  the  end  of  the  year.  The  merchant  wants 
me  to  let  him  have  this  bale  of  cotton  and  that  bale  of 
cotton  from  this  tenant  and  that  tenant  and  everything 
always  gets  into  a  stew.  It's  simpler  when  I  take  all  the 
cotton,  pay  the  merchant  what's  coming  to  him,  then  take 
out  my  rent  share,  and  turn  the  balance  over  to  the 
tenant." 

"Yes,  Will  dear,  I  know  that,  but  the  effect  of  it  all  is 
that  if  there  is  any  loss  you  bear  it.  You  subordinate  your 
landlord's  lien  to  the  merchant's  account,  whereas  the 
law  is  that  the  landlord's  lien  for  his  rent  comes  first." 

"Yes,  that's  so,  Mamie,  but  the  niggers  are  so  poor  and 
ignorant,  and  I  don't  like  to  see  the  whole  brunt  of  bad 
seasons  and  insects  and  everything  fall  on  them  all  the 
time." 

"Oh,  Will,  Will,"  she  said  ready  to  burst  into  tears, 
"must  we  go  on  forever  stinting  and  stinting  and  having 
so  little,  just  to  protect  some  niggers  who  don't  work  half 
of  the  time  and  who  won't  even  drive  a  staple  in  a  fence- 
post  for  us  unless  we  pay  'em  twice  what  it's  worth?" 

"Most  of  'em  are  mighty  trifling,"  said  Mr.  Robertson. 
"Especially  when  it  comes  to  fixing  up  anything." 

"And  they  could  get  on  if  they  would  work  and  save 
and  try,"  said  Mrs.  Robertson.  "Look  at  Bob  Barker 
and  the  Washington  boys  and  Uncle  Peter  Higgins,  all 
niggers,  all  of  'em,  and  they  own  their  own  places  and 
make  good  crops  nearly  every  year.  And  they  made  it 
all  themselves.  They  started  out  as  renters.  Why  can't 
the  others  do  as  well?  Because  they  are  so  lazy  and 
trifling,  that's  the  whole  reason." 


54  White  and  Black 

"Yes,  I  reckon  you  are  right,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  but 
there  was  something  in  his  tone  that  showed  he  was  not 
altogether  convinced.  Late  in  the  night  he  lay  awake 
pondering. 

Next  morning  at  breakfast  Mr.  Robertson  said,  "Bob, 
tell  Cyrus  to  saddle  up  my  horse  and  Saladin.  I  want 
you  to  go  down  to  the  lower  place  with  me  this  morning." 

"All  right,  Papa,"  said  Bob.  "I  was  sorter  counting 
on  going  to  town  this  morning,  but — " 

"Will,  you  don't  need  him  specially  to  go  with  you,  do 
you?"  asked  Mrs.  Robertson. 

"Yes,  I  need  him  very  specially,"  answered  her  hus- 
band. 

Riding  along  the  edge  of  the  creek  bottom  on  their 
way  to  the  lower  place  Mr.  Robertson  and  Bob  passed 
by  the  farm  of  Bob  Barker.  "You  see,"  said  Mr.  Rob- 
ertson, "Bob  Barker  has  a  good  crop,  and  it  is  well 
worked.  He  nearly  always  has  a  good  crop.  I've  thought 
about  it  a  whole  lot,  and  it  must  be  because  he  is  work- 
ing for  himself,  and  not  for  a  landlord.  It  is  a  good 
thing  for  a  man,  white  or  black,  to  be  working  for  him- 
self on  his  own  land.  Bob  Barker  makes  at  least  twice 
as  much  every  year  as  any  one  of  my  tenants.  It  would 
be  the  best  plan,  I  think,  for  all  the  larger  places  to 
be  broken  up,  divided  into  small  farms,  and  sold  to 
the  tenants  on  easy  terms." 

"I  don't  know,  Papa,"  said  Bob,  "the  niggers  would 
own  nearly  this  whole  county  then,  and  that  wouldn't  be 
a  good  thing,  would  it?" 

"No,  but  I  believe  the  county  would  produce  more  if 
every  man  owned  the  land  that  he  worked  and  no 
more." 


White  and  Black  55 

"Well,  look  at  Randy  Shallow,"  answered  Bob,  "he 
makes  his  place  pay  him  good  money,  and  why?  He 
stays  right  with  his  niggers  and  drives  'em  all  day  long — 
and  they  do  say  he  stays  lots  of  nights,  too,"  he  ended 
with  a  snigger. 

"Bob,  I  am  surprised  at  you,"  said  Mr.  Robertson. 
"That's  the  shame  of  this  whole  county.  And  one  of  the 
reasons  why  I  want  to  send  you  to  college  is  so  that 
you  may  prepare  yourself  for  some  profession  that  will 
enable  you  to  shake  the  dust  of  it  off  of  your  feet." 

"There's  no  danger  of  that  sort  of  thing  with  me," 
said  Bob. 

"Well,  son,  I'm  mighty  glad  to  hear  it,  and  I  hope  there 
never  will  be." 

When  they  reached  the  lower  place,  they  rode  straight 
to  the  shack  of  Madison  Mulberry,  whom  they  found 
just  starting  out  to  work. 

"Good  morning,  Madison,"  said  Mr.  Robertson. 

"Good  mawnin',  Mr.  Will." 

"Stop,  I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

"Whut  you  gwine  to  say  to  me,  Mr.  Will  ?" 

"Hold  your  mouth,  and  listen.  Yesterday,  you  came 
and  asked  me  for  some  money.  You  asked  me  in  such  a 
way  that  I  couldn't  have  given  it  to  you  if  I  had  wanted 
to.  You've  got  the  name  of  a  bad  nigger,  and  I  suppose 
you  thought  you'd  bl'uff  me." 

"Naw,  suh,  Mr.  Will,  I  wuz  jes'— " 

"Hold  on  till  I  get  through.  Did  you  ever  shoot  a  man, 
Madison  ?" 

"Yassuh,  I  shot  one." 

"Did  you  ever  beat  any  up?" 

"Yassuh,  I  beat  up  two  niggers.     Dey  wuz — " 


56  White  and  Black 

"Never  mind.    Were  you  afraid  of  'em?" 

"Waal,  suh,  I  wuzn't  to  say  skeered  of  'em.  But  I 
wuz  kinder  skeered  of  whut  dey  wuz  gvvine  to  do  to  me, 
if  I  didn't  do  it  fust.  Whut  you  drivin'  at,  Mr.  Will?" 

"That's  what  I  am  driving  at.  The  reason  why  I'm  not 
going  to  shoot  you  or  beat  you  up,  why  I  haven't  done  it 
before  this,  is  that  I  am  not  scared  of  what  you  are 
going  to  do  to  me." 

"Lawd,  Mr.  Will,  you  sho'  is  a  kyuous  man.  I  ain't 
never  thought — " 

"Don't  lie  to  me,  don't  say  another  word.  Go  on  to 
your  work." 

Madison  paused,  then  half  turned  irresolutely,  then 
said  to  his  mule,  "Git  up,  Moll,  we  got  to  bust  out  dem 
middles." 

"Come  on,  Bob,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  "we'll  ride  over 
and  see  Sim  Senter  while  we  are  here." 

Bob  followed  joyfully,  but  still  there  was  a  feeling  in 
his  mind  that  he  would  have  been  somehow  better  satis- 
fied if  his  father  had  given  Madison  a  sound  thrashing 
with  his  quirt. 

Sim  Senter  was  the  only  white  tenant  Mr.  Robertson 
had.  He  lived  in  a  somewhat  better  house  than  the 
Negro  tenants,  and  acted  sometimes  as  a  sort  of  fore- 
man when  there  was  work  on  hand  that  required  a  gang 
to  do  it,  such  as  cleaning  new  ground  or  making  hay.  He 
despised  the  Negroes,  and  they  had  an  ill-concealed  con- 
tempt for  him  because  he  had  "to  work  jes'  like  a  nigger 
an'  wuzn't  nuthin'  but  po'  white  trash." 

He  was  mending  a  wagon  with  a  piece  of  baling  wire 
when  Mr.  Robertson  and  Bob  rode  up,  and  a  fringe  of 
lank-haired  children  culminating  in  Susie,  his  fourteen 


White  and  Black  57 

year  old  girl,  were  sitting  on  the  edge  of  the  floor  of  the 
front  porch  and  swinging  their  bare  feet  and  legs  idly 
while  they  gazed  with  a  sort  of  vacant  intentness  at  the 
visitors  and  beyond  them  to  the  trees  that  shut  out  the 
horizon.  "Howdy,  Mr.  Will,"  Sim  said,  "howdy,  Bob." 

"Howdy,  Sim,"  they  answered. 

"How's  the  crop,  Sim?"  asked  Mr.  Robertson. 

"Jes5  fair  to  middlin,  I  reckon,  Mr.  Will.  There's  a 
right  smart  sprinklin'  of  boll-weevils  in  my  strip  of  cotton 
down  there  by  the  timber,  an'  my  corn  looks  like  it  is 
tryin'  to  turn  yaller  on  me  spite  of  all  I  can  do.  But 
I  reckon  it'll  hold  out  maybe  till  the  nineteenth.  An' 
we're  sho'  to  have  rain  then,  if  not  bef  o'." 

"Yes,  it  always  rains  on  the  nineteenth,"  said  Bob. 

"Sho'  does,"  said  Sim,  "an'  I'm  mighty  damn  glad  of 
it.  The  crops  needs  it,  an'  all  the  niggers  dressed  up  in 
their  finery  gits  a  good  wettin'." 

"Sim,  I  don't  think  you  ought  to  feel  that  way  about 
it,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  "let  'em  have  their  fun." 

"Well,  if  it  was  up  to  me,"  said  Sim,  "I'd  give  'em 
some  fun.  I'd  let  'em  see  how  funny  it  is  to  start  to  work 
at  sun-up  eve'y  mawnin'  an'  never  quit  till  sun-down,  an' 
I'd  be  right  behind  'em  with  a  whup  all  the  time.  That'd 
be  my  fun  for  'em." 

"Why,  Sim,  you  must  be  in  a  bad  humor  this  morning, 
what  have  they  been  doing?" 

"Turnin'  in  their  stock  on  my  corn,"  said  Sim,  "an' 
swearin'  they  break  out  of  the  paschur.  Me  and  my 
oldest  boy  wuz  up  mighty  nigh  all  last  night  drivin'  old 
Sam's  cattle  out  of  my  corn." 

"I'll  have  to  see  Uncle  Sam  and  talk  to  him,"  said  Mr. 
Robertson. 

"I  wish  you  would,  Mr.  Will,  an'  you  might  throw  in 


58  White  and  Black 

a  few  words  at  Madison  Mulberry  while  you  are  at  it. 
He  is  the  wust  one  of  'em  all.  I'm  goin'  to  fill  some  cows' 
hides  full  of  bird-shot,  if  not  buckshot,  hyeer  before 
long." 

"What  about  the  hay  this  year,  Sim?" 

"They's  jes'  one  thing  about  the  hay,  Mr.  Will,  an'  that 
is,  if  I'm  goin'  to  see  to  the  cuttin'  of  it,  I'm  got  to  be  boss. 
Every  nigger  on  the  place  has  got  to  thinkin'  that  he's 
the  boss,  an'  I'm  not  goin'  to  stand  it." 

"I'll  see  to  that,"  said  Mr.  Robertson. 

"All  right,  Mr.  Will,  but  I  wish  you  would  come  into 
the  house  an'  take  a  look  at  my  second  boy.  He's  down 
with  somep'n  sorter  like  dumb  chills,  an'  it  looks  to  me 
like  he's  in  a  powerful  bad  fix.  Part  of  the  time  he  don't 
know  nuthin'  at  all." 

"Has  the  doctor  been  out  to  see  him  yet  ?" 

"Waal,  I  took  him  into  town  to  see  the  doctor  day-be- 
fo'-yestiddy,  and  he  give  him  some  medicine,  but  it  don't 
do  him  no  good." 

Mr.  Robertson  dismounted  and  went  inside,  where  he 
found  Jim,  a  boy  of  sixteen,  lying  on  a  squalid  bed,  and 
unconscious. 

"Great  goodness  alive,  Sim !  that's  a  sick  boy,"  he  said. 

"Yes,  I  ain't  been  in  my  right  mind  for  two  or  three 
days  a-worryin'  about  him,"  said  Sim.  "His  mother, 
she  stayed  up  with  him  all  last  night,  and  she's  in  that 
other  room  now  tryin'  to  git  a  little  sleep." 

"Put  your  oldest  boy  on  a  horse  right  away,  and  send 
'for  a  doctor,"  said  Mr.  Robertson. 

"I  would  ha*  done  that  yestiddy,  Mr.  Will,  but  the 
doctors  charge  two  dollars  a  visit  and  a  dollar  a  mile 
for  mileage  and  they  calls  it  five  miles  from  town  out 


White  and  Black  59 

hyeer.  And  you  know  that's  mighty  hard  on  a  pore  man, 
Mr.  Will." 

"Yes,  but  you  haven't  got  time  to  think  about  that  now. 
You've  got  to  save  your  boy.  If  you  can't  pay  the  doctor, 
I'll  pay  him." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Will,  I'll  send  Harry  right  now." 

He  went  out  into  the  yard  and  called,  "Harry !  Harry ! 
Harry !"  but  there  was  no  answer.  Coming  back  he  said, 
"Wait  a  minute,  I'll  blow  the  horn  for  him,"  and  reached 
up  to  get  from  the  wall  a  long  and  carefully  polished 
steer's  horn  which  hung  by  a  string  from  a  nail. 

"No,  wait,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  "you'll  wake  up  Mrs. 
Senter  so  she  won't  be  able  to  go  back  to  sleep  again. 
I'll  send  Bob." 

Then  going  to  the  porch  he  said,  "Bob,  ride  into  town 
as  fast  as  you  can  and  tell  Dr.  Anderson  to  come  right 
out  here  in  a  hurry.  Jim's  mighty  sick." 

"All  right,  Papa,  but  s'pose  Dr.  Anderson  has  gone  fish- 
ing." 

"Yes,  that's  very  likely,  the  only  good  doctor  there  is, 
and  he  spends  two-thirds  of  his  time  fishing  and  hunt- 
ing. But  that's  the  way  we  do  things  here!  Well,  if 
you  can't  find  him,  tell  Dr.  Bolton,  he's  better  than  noth- 
ing." 

Bob  left  in  a  lope. 

Turning  back  into  the  room,  Mr.  Robertson  said,  "Sim, 
if  we  pull  Jim  through — or  if  we  don't — you  must  screen 
this  house.  You  know  I've  offered  to  furnish  you  the 
wire  many  a  time.  Your  family  can't  have  any  health 
with  millions  of  flies  and  mosquitoes  in  the  house  all  of 
the  time." 

"They  are  pretty  bad,  but  shuckins!  Mr.  Will,  ain't 


60  White  and  Black 

we  all  grovved  up  with  flies  and  mosquitoes?  You  got  a 
wire  door  slammin'  all  the  time,  an'  you  can't  even  spit 
out  of  a  window  when  you  put  them  screens  over  ever'- 
thing." 

"Well,  the  flies  and  mosquitoes  bring  typhoid  and  mala- 
ria into  the  house  all  of  the  time." 

"That's  what  they  say  now-a-days,  Mr.  Will,  but  we 
know  better'n  that.  Them  doctors  now-a-days  is  always 
gittin'  up  some  new-fangled  notions  to  cost  money.  Dr. 
Anderson  was  raisin'  sand  hyeer  not  long  ago  'cause  I  ain't 
got  my  privy  half  a  mile  from  the  well.  I  reckon  he  wants 
all  of  us  to  walk  around  for  exercise.  We  git  plenty  of 
that  chasin'  up  and  down  the  cotton-rows." 

"Well,  you  don't  want  the  screens  then?" 

"Naw,  suh,  I  don't  want  'em.  But  if  you  say  so,  I 
might  screen  some  of  the  windows." 

"What  good'll  that  do  if  you  don't  screen  'em  all  ?" 

"It  won't  do  no  good.  If  I  wuz  to  screen  'em  all,  it 
wouldn't  do  no  good,  and  ever'  time  you  bring  in  a  load 
of  wood  you  got  to  contend  with  them  damn  slammin' 
wire  doors,  but  I'll  screen  some  of  'em  jus'  to  please  you, 
Mr.  Will." 

"No,  you  needn't  mind,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  feeling 
that  further  insistence  would  be  useless,  as  at  best  it 
could  only  result  in  exacting  a  promise  that  would  never 
be  carried  out. 

He  continued,  "I'll  go  over  to  Uncle  Sam's  and  drop 
back  by  here  when  the  doctor  comes." 

"Waal,  don'  forgit  to  tell  him  about  them  cattle,"  said 
Sim. 

"All  right,  I  won't,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  taking  his 
departure. 


White  and  Black  6r 

He  found  Uncle  Sam,  an  old  Negro  of  seventy-five,, 
giving  his  corn  its  last  plowing.  The  stalks  were  higher 
than  Uncle  Sam's  head.  Indeed  he  and  his  mule  were 
visible  only  when  they  came  out  at  the  end  of  a  row. 
As  Mr.  Robertson  approached,  he  was  just  coming  out 
and  made  a  picture,  comic  or  pathetic,  depending  upon 
the  disposition  of  the  beholder. 

He  was  tall  and  gaunt,  and  bent  by  years  of  toil.  His 
gray,  woolly  beard  looked  almost  white  against  the  black 
background  of  his  face.  An  old,  flopping,  wide-brimmed, 
dingy  felt  hat,  ragged  overalls  and  jumper,  and  shapeless 
brogan  shoes  constituted  his  costume.  His  gait  was  stiff 
and  halting. 

"Hi,  Uncle  Sam,"  called  Mr.  Robertson,  seeking  to 
attract  his  attention  before  he  should  turn  back  into  an- 
other row. 

Uncle  Sam  seemed  to  gaze  at  him  quite  calmly  and 
as  calmly  turned  his  mule  to  start  back.  Mr.  Robertson 
spurred  up  his  horse  and  came  quickly  quite  close  up  to 
him.  "What's  the  matter,  Uncle  Sam,"  he  asked,  laugh- 
ing, "aren't  you  speaking  to  me  these  days?" 

"Lawd,  Mr.  Will.  I  axes  your  pahdon !"  he  exclaimed. 
"I  took  you  for  dat  ar  liniment  man,  an'  I  wuzn't  gwine 
to  pay  you  no  mind." 

"What  liniment  man?" 

"Come  along  a  man  yestiddy  wanted  to  sell  me  a  bottle 
of  liniment  for  dis  old  mule.  Wanted  me  to  give  him  a 
dollar  for  it.  I  told  him  naw,  dis  mule'll  last  long  as  I 
will,  and  to  git  out  of  hyeer.  But  I  couldn't  hardly  git 
shed  of  him  noway.  An'  he  say  he  gwine  to  come  back 
to-day  an'  sell  me  dat  ar  liniment  willy-nilly.  But  how 
is  you,  Mr.  Will?" 


62  White  and  Black 

"Thank  you,  I'm  well,  Uncle  Sam." 

"And  how  is  Miss  Mamie?  I  ain't  seed  her  in  a  long 
time." 

"She  is  well,  too,  thank  you." 

"And  Mr.  Bob,  I  reckon  he  is  all  right?" 

"Yes,  he  is  all  right,  too,  but  how  are  you  getting  on  ?" 

"Waal,  suh,  I  would  be  gittin'  on  fine  if  it  wuzn't  for 
dis  hyeer  misery  in  my  leg.  Sometimes  it  gits  me  in  de 
knee  and  den  agin  it  ketches  me  in  de  hip-jint.  An'  it 
draws  me  so,  Mr.  Will,  dat's  whut  I  hates,  it  draws  me 
so." 

"Well,  Uncle  Sam,  you  mustn't  work  too  hard.  You 
are  getting  too  old  now.  Your  boys  ought  to  do  this 
work  for  you." 

"Yassuh,  dey  he'ps  me,  but  I  kinder  likes  to  give  my 
cawn  de  las'  plowin'  myse'f.  I  ain't  long  for  dis  worl', 
Mr.  Will,  an'  de  chances  is  maybe  I  won't  be  plowin' 
hyeer  next  year,  but  I'll  be  praisin'  de  Lawd  up  yonder." 

"No,  Uncle  Sam,  don't  talk  that  way.  We  will  keep  you 
going  for  a  good  many  years  yet.  But  you'd  better  stop 
work  for  this  morning.  There's  no  rush  about  this  corn." 

"Jes'  as  you  say,  Mr.  Will.  I  'speck  I'll  have  time  to 
run  aroun'  it  soon  of  mawnin's  and  late  of  evenin's  any- 
how." 

"Oh,  you  will  have  plenty  of  time.  If  you  don't  I'll 
make  some  of  the  others  come  and  finish  it  up  for  you. 
But  how  is  Aunt  Hannah  getting  on?" 

"Speakin'  ginerally,  Mr.  Will,  you  mout  say  Hannah 
ain't  no  'count.  She's  plumb  wo'  out,  whut  wid  de  rheu- 
matiz  an'  de  skiracter  an'  one  thing  another,  you  mout 
say  she  is  wo'  out." 

"How  many  children  has  she  had,  Uncle  Sam?  I 
forget." 


White  and  Black  63 

"Hannah  is  de  mammy  of  fo'teen  head  of  chillun,  Mr. 
Will,  'leven  livin'  and  three  dead.  An'  whut's  mo',  I  is 
de  daddy  of  'em  all'." 

"Looks  to  me  like  you'd  be  wo'  out  too — hunh  ? — Uncle 
Sam?" 

"Lawd,  Mr.  Will,  you  always  is  de  man  for  yo'  joke, 
but  I'm  putty  good  yit.  Haw,  haw,  haw !  I  sho'  is  for  a 
fac'." 

"Well,  what's  this  I  hear  about  your  cows  getting  into 
Mr.  Senter's  corn?" 

"Lawd,  Mr.  Will,  de  cows  did  git  aroun'  and  eat  a 
little  off  de  edges  of  his  cawn  patch.  But  it  wuz  his  boy 
Harry  lef  de  paschur  gate  open.  He's  always  runnin' 
roun'  nights  atter  de  gals.  An'  he  don't  keer  nuthin' 
'bout  gates." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  how  that  is,"  said  Mr.  Robertson, 
"but  try  to  keep  the  cows  shut  up,  so  there  won't  be  any 
trouble,  Uncle  Sam.  And  we  are  going  to  begin  making 
hay  before  long.  And  I  want  you  to  tell  your  boys  to 
mind  Mr.  Senter  just  the  same  as  if  it  was  me." 

"Yassuh,  Mr.  Will,  I'll  tell  'em,  an'  dey'll  do  it,  but 
I  ain't  sayin'  it  won't  go  agin  de  grain.  Dey's  a  way  to 
do  eve'ything,  Mr.  Will,  an'  it  looks  like  dese  hyeer  po' 
white  folks  never  kin  happen  on  it.  Somehow  or  nuther 
dey  goes  at  it  de  wrong  way." 

"That's  all  right,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  "but  it  is  neces- 
sary for  me  to  have  Mr.  Senter  as  the  foreman  of  the 
hay  gang,  and  I  expect  all  the  hands  to  mind  him  till 
that  is  over." 

"Yassuh,  my  boys'll  mind  him.  If  dey  is  all  married 
an'  makin'  a  crop  for  deyselves,  dey'll  do  whut  I  tells  'em, 
if  two  of  'em  is  been  off  to  de  War." 

"I  know  they  will,  Uncle  Sam,  that's  why  I  am  telling 


^4  White  and  Black 

you  about  it  and  saving  myself  the  trouble  of  going  around 
to  see  them  separately.  But  why  should  there  be  such  a 
rucus  about  minding  Mr.  Senter?  It's  no  disgrace  to  be 
poor.  If  so,  what  sort  of  shape  would  you  be  in  your- 
self?" 

"Lawd,  Mr.  Will,  you  know  better'n  dat.  I  is  a  nigger, 
an'  it's  natchul  for  a  nigger  to  be  po'.  An'  it  don't  make 
no  diffunce  if  a  white  man  ain't  got  no  money.  De 
question  is,  is  his  folks  ever  had  anything?  If  dey  ain't, 
den  good-by,  he  jes'  don't  know  how." 

"Well,  there  may  be  something  in  that,"  said  Mr.  Rob- 
ertson, laughing,  "but  I  want  all  of  you  to  bear  in  mind 
that  Mr.  Senter  is  your  boss  in  that  hay-making.  Go 
home  and  put  up  your  mule  now  and  rest  till  about  four 
o'clock  this  evening.  Here's  a  little  tobacco  money  to 
spend  next  time  you  go  to  town."  He  pitched  Uncle  Sam 
a  fifty  cent  piece. 

"Thank'ee,  thank'ee  kindly,  Mr.  Will,"  said  Uncle  Sam 
as  he  stooped  rustily  to  pick  up  the  money,  and  Mr.  Rob- 
ertson turned  his  horse  to  go. 

After  riding  about  to  get  a  general  view  of  the  crops, 
Mr.  Robertson  made  his  way  back  to  Sim  Senter's  house. 
Doctor  Anderson  was  there.  Fortunately  Bob  had  met 
him  on  the  way,  bound  for  a  lake  that  was  not  far  from 
the  lower  place.  There  he  had  intended  to  spend  the  next 
two  days  fishing. 

Mr.  Robertson  called  him  aside  and  asked  him  what  he 
thought  of  the  patient.  "Well,  he  is  a  mighty  sick  boy," 
answered  the  doctor.  "I  should  say  malaria  with  some 
typhoid  symptoms,  and  possibly  hematuria,  with  enlarge- 
ment of  the  spleen.  I  have  taken  some  of  his  blood  to 
send  to  the  city  for  a  test.  I'll  know  better  how  to 
treat  him  when  they  wire  me  the  result  to-morrow." 


White  and  Black  6$ 

"You  think  he  is  in  danger,  then  ?" 

"Yes,  he  is  in  serious  danger,  but  of  course  we  may  pull 
him  through." 

"Well,  do  all  you  can,  doctor,"  said  Mr.  Robertson. 
"I  am  standing  behind  Sim  as  far  as  expenses  are  con- 
cerned." 

"That's  all  right,  Will,  but  it  is  not  necessary.  I'll  take 
my  chances  on  Sim.  He  is  honest  and  will  pay  if  he  ever 
gets  the  money,  but  of  course  he  will  grumble  a  good 
deal.  I'd  spend  some  money  myself  to  get  this  house 
screened  and  that  privy  and  horse-lot  moved  further  away 
from  the  well." 

"Well,  let  us  hope  that  this  sickness  will  at  least  bring 
Sim  to  reason  about  those  things." 

"But  it  won't,"  said  the  doctor,  spreading  out  both  of 
his  hands  in  a  gesture  of  hopelessness. 

Bob  had  gotten  off  his  horse  and  was  sitting  in  the 
shade  of  a  large  cottonwood  tree  by  Sim's  hog-pen,  which 
was  a  little  way  outside  of  Sim's  front  yard.  Harry,  a 
boy  of  twenty,  and  Sim's  eldest,  came  riding  up.  "Well, 
how's  mama  this  mawnin'  ?"  he  said  to  Bob,  and  grinned. 

"Shut  up,"  said  Bob,  blushing. 

"Is  that  her  apern  string  you've  got  tied  round  yo'" 
neck?"  he  asked,  pointing  to  Bob's  tie. 

"Look'ee  here,  now,"  answered  Bob,  "I've  had  enough 
of  that.  And  I'd  beat  hell  out  of  you,  if  your  brother 
wasn't  about  to  die  in  there." 

"Oh,  he  said  hell,"  chuckled  Harry,  "ain't  he  gittin' 
bad?" 

"Harry,  come  hyeer  this  minute.  Where  you  been?"' 
called  Sim. 

"Whut  you  want?"  answered  Harry. 

"Jim's  about  to  die,"  Sim's  voice  was  grief-stricken.. 


66  White  and  Black 

"Is  that  so,  Papa,  I'm  a-comin',"  and  Harry  jumped 
from  his  horse  and  went  running  to  the  porch.  "Is  he 
took  wuss,  Papa?" 

"Yes,  there's  the  doctor  and  Mr.  Will  in  the  back  of 
the  hall  there.  And  they've  took  blood  out  of  him, 
Harry." 

"Where's  Mama?" 

"She's  in  the  room  now  with  Jim." 

"You  reckon  I'd  better  go  in  there  ?" 

"No,  but  you're  to  go  back  to  town  with  the  doctor 
and  bring  some  medicine." 

"Where's  Susie?" 

"She's  back  there  fixin'  to  git  ready  to  try  to  git  some 
dinner.  But  I  know  she  is  goin'  to  make  a  mighty  pore 
out  at  it,  but  yo'  mama  says  she  is  wo'  out,  an'  Susie 
will  jes'  have  to  do  the  best  she  kin." 

"Somethin'  is  always  happenin'  to  us,"  exclaimed  Harry, 
"an'  them  damn  Robertsons,  don't  nuthin'  ever  happen 
to  them." 

"Shut  up  yo'  mouth,"  answered  Sim,  angrily.  "They 
never  wuz  no  better  man  than  Mr.  Will." 

"Ridin'  roun'  hyeer  and  lordin'  it  over  us  all  of  the 
time,"  answered  Harry,  as  a  tear  rolled  down  his  cheek. 
"I  wush  it  was  that  damn  little  mother-coddlin'  baby  that's 
settin'  out  yonder  under  that  tree,  'stead  of  Jim." 

"Hush,  Harry,  whut's  got  into  you  ?" 

"Hell's  got  into  me,  that's  whut's  got  into  me.  Hyeer 
last'  year  Sister  Mary  died,  an'  we're  jus'  so  damn  pore 
an'  don't  know  nuthin'  an'  can't  do  nuthin'  an'  never  have 
nuthin'."  He  struggled  to  choke  back  a  sob. 

Dr.  Anderson  and  Mr.  Robertson  came  out  to  the 
porch.  "Come  on,  Harry,  if  you  are  going  to  town  with 
me,"  said  the  doctor. 


CHAPTER  X 

WHILE  Mr.  Robertson  and  Bob  were  away  from  home 
that  morning,  Cindy  took  the  opportunity  of  consulting 
with  Miss  Mamie  about  a  matter  of  importance. 

"You  know,  Miss  Mamie,"  she  said,  "I  been  thinkin,' 
a  whole  lot  hyeer  lately." 

"What  about,  Cindy?" 

"Waal,  Cyrus,  he  keep  a-pesterin'  me  till  it  looks  like 
I  can't  have  no  peace." 

"What's  Cyrus  bothering  you  about  now  ?" 

"Waal,  'um,  he  wants  me  to  marry  him." 

"I  should  think  you'd  be  glad  of  that.  He  and  you 
ought  to  have  married  long  ago." 

"How's  dat,  Miss  Mamie?"  and  Cindy  tittered. 

"You  have  been  living  with  him  for  a  year  or  more, 
Cindy,  and  you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself." 

"Yassum,  I  is  when  I  thinks  about  it  sometimes,  an* 
den  I  says  to  myse'f  I  don't  know.  You  see,  Miss  Mamie, 
it's  dis  a-way.  If  you  is  livin'  wid  a  man  an'  he  gits 
mean  an'  you  ain't  married  to  him,  you  kin  tell  him  to  light 
out,  you  done  lost  yo'  tas'e  for  'im.  But  if  you  is  married 
to  him,  why  den,  Miss  Mamie,  you  sorter  b'longs  to 
'im,  an'  whut  you  gwine  to  do?" 

"Yes,  Cindy,  but  aren't  you  a  member  of  the  church  ?" 

"Yassum,  I's  a  member.  I  been  a  strong  Babtis'  for 
de  longest.  But  dat's  one  thing,  an'  marryin'  is  another. 
No'm,  I  don't  dance  an'  I  don't  go  gaddin'  roun'  hyeer 
atter  all  de  men  like  some  of  dese  women.  I  don't  never 
work  on  Sunday  'ceppen  jes'  to  cook  yo'  meals,  an'  I 

67 


<68  White  and  Black 

shouts  at  eve'y  meetin'  and  cawntributes  to  de  church 
regular.  But  when  it  comes  to  gittin'  tied  to  a  nigger 
like  Cyrus,  I  don't  know.  Maybe  I  won't  like  him  long, 
an'  den  maybe  I  will.  How  kin  anybody  tell?" 

"But  had  you  ever  thought,  Cindy,  that  he  would  be 
•tied  to  you,  too?  As  it  is  now,  'most  any  woman  might 
come  along  and  get  him  any  time." 

"None  of  'em  better  not  come  pesterin'  'round  Cyrus, 
Miss  Mamie.  I  tell  you,  dey  better  not." 

"But  suppose  he  decides  he  wants  to  marry,  and  if 
you  won't  marry  him,  he'll  have  to  try  to  find  some- 
tody  else." 

"Yassum,  dey's  somep'n  in  dat,  he  mout  slip  off  an' 
do  it,  but  looks  like  I  can't  git  no  confidence  in  Cyrus 
somehow.  He's  been  argyfyin'  an'  argyfyin'  wid  me, 
but  I  don'  believe  mo'  'n  half  of  whut  dat  nigger  tells 
me.  He  say  he  want  to  marry  an'  settle  down.  But  like 
it  is  now,  my  wages  is  mine,  an'  I  make  Cyrus  gi'  me 
part  of  his'n.  But  whut  if  we  wuz  to  marry  an'  settle 
down,  den  it  mout  be  dat  his  wages  would  be  his'n  an' 
he'd  take  mine,  too.  'Let  well  enough  alone'  ain't  sich 
a  bad  rule,  Miss  Mamie.  And  lots  of  folks  is  married 
-dat  ain't  doin'  well.  An'  den  sometimes  Cyrus  is  so 
proud  of  hisse'f  about  bein'  off  at  de  War  I  has  to  take 
.him  down  strong." 

"But  certainly  if  you  would  speak  to  your  pastor,  Cindy, 
he'd  tell  you  that  it  is  your  duty  to  marry  Cyrus." 

"Lawd,  Miss  Mamie,  you  can't  tell  me  nuthin'  about 
nigger  preachers.  I  knows  'em." 

"But  some  of  'em  must  be  good,"  said  Mrs.  Robert- 
eon. 

•"Yassum,  some  of  'em  is  good  all  right,  but  mostly  dey 


White  and  Black  69 

is  preachers  inside  de  pulpit  an'  men  folks  outside.  An1 
you  never  kin  tell  till  you  is  tried  'em  out." 

"Have  you  tried  any  of  'em  out,  Cindy  ?" 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!  Is  I,  Miss  Mamie?"  Cindy  laughed 
vociferously  and  bridled  with  a  remembrance  of  former 
triumphs. 

"Oh,  Cindy,  I  don't  know  what  is  ever  going  to  become 
of  all  you  black  folks!"  said  Mrs.  Robertson  sadly,  but 
yet  with  some  lurking  amusement  in  her  eyes. 

"No'm,  dey  ain't  no  tellin',"  said  Cindy. 

"That's  one  thing  that  is  the  matter  with  you,  down  in 
your  hearts  you  think  there  is  no  use,  but  why  don't  you 
try,  really  try,  to  live  better?  You  must  remember  that 
Christ  died  for  you  as  well  as  for  the  white  folks." 

"Yassum,  dat's  so,"  said  Cindy,  "an'  I  reckon  I'll  haf 
to  marry  Cyrus."  Her  face  clouded  up,  but  after  a 
moment  came  a  gleam  of  brightness,  as  she  added,  "If  he 
gits  too  mean,  I  kin  git  me  a  divo'ce,  if  it  do  cost  twenty- 
five  dollars.  Yassum,  I  kin  do  dat." 

"Oh,  Cindy!"  said  Mrs.  Robertson,  hopelessly.  But 
then  she  smiled.  "You  better  run  along  now  and  start 
dinner,  so  as  to  have  it  ready  by  the  time  Mr.  Will  and 
Mr.  Bob  get  back." 


CHAPTER  XI 

Two  days,  Saturday  and  Sunday,  passed  by  and  it  was 
Monday,  the  thirteenth  of  June,  and  John  Ramsey  had 
not  screwed  his  courage  to  the  point  of  asking  for  the 
loan  of  the  little  pasture.  But  he  and  his  tribe  had  worked 
hard  in  the  cotton  and  corn  during  the  week  days,  even 
on  Saturday  afternoon,  and  at  night  he  had  stirred  about 
with  such  energy  that  already  arrangements  were  made 
to  buy  two  shotes  from  Madison  Mulberry  and  a  yearling 
from  Joe  Williams,  and  a  chattel  mortgage  on  his  team 
had  been  given  to  Mr.  Tony  Peters  for  forty  dollars, 
which  John  buried  in  a  baking-powder  can  under  his  corn 
crib.  Word  had  also  been  sent  out  to  all  of  the  Negroes. 

"If  I  gits  de  'rangements  made,"  said  John  to  himself, 
"befo'  I  tells  Mr.  Will,  he'll  be  'most  sho'  to  let  me  have 
de  paschur,  'cause  he'll  hate  to  bust  up  my  'rangements." 

At  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning  Mr.  Robertson  and  Bob 
were  inspecting  John's  crop  from  the  slight  roadway  that 
led  along  the  edge  of  the  field  across  the  railroad  to  the 
big  pasture. 

John,  Sally,  and  the  three  boys  were  making  the  grass 
fly  at  the  far  end  of  the  field. 

"He  has  certainly  made  fine  headway  here  in  the  past 
few  days,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  "he  must  want  something 
or  have  some  sort  of  special  scheme  on  foot." 

"It  will  have  something  to  do  with  the  Nineteenth,  I 
expect,"  said  Bob. 

"I  reckon  so,"  answered  Mr.  Robertson,  "but  you  can 
run  along  now  to  the  pasture  and  take  a  squint  at  the 

70 


White  and  Black  71' 

cattle  and  fences,  and  I'll  go  on  to  town."  Accordingly 
they  separated,  turning  their  horses'  heads  in  opposite 
directions. 

Much  went  on  inside  of  Bob  that  was  not  betrayed  by 
anything  he  said  or  did  in  the  presence  of  his  father  or 
mother.  Just  then  as  he  rode  along,  his  mind  was  dwell- 
ing on  his  encounter  with  Harry  Senter,  and  his  thoughts 
ran,  "If  a  feller  tries  to  be  decent  and  gentlemanly,  they 
call  him  a  mama's  boy.  They  think  I'm  scared  to  do 
anything.  I'll  show  'em.  I'm  goin'  to  whip  hell  out  of 
that  Harry  Senter,  if  it's  the  last  thing  I  do.  And  I'm 
goin'  to  break  loose.  I'm  tired  of  bein'  pinned  down  all 
of  the  time.  If  ever  I  start  out  from  home,  night  or  day, 
it's,  'Where  are  you  going,  Bob?  What  are  you  going 
to  do?  When  are  you  coming  back?'  They  think  I'm 
about  six  years  old,  that's  what  they  think !" 

He  crossed  the  railroad  right  of  way,  opened  the  gate 
on  the  other  side  and  rode  into  the  pasture. 

From  the  far  end  of  the  field  a  pair  of  eyes  watched  him 
with  consuming  interest.  Those  eyes  belonged  to  Sally. 
"Had  I  better  go  now  or  wait  a  while?"  she  asked  herself. 
Then  she  added,  "Hunh,  it's  best  to  be  sho'.  He  might 
spen'  a  lot  of  time  ridin'  aroun'  de  paschur,  an'  den  agin 
he  might  not.  Anyway  out  dar  I'll  be  restin',  and  hyeer 
I  is  a-workin*.  An'  if  he  comes  soon  or  late,  I'll  be  on 
de  spot." 

She  dropped  her  hoe,  slipped  through  the  fence,  stole 
across  the  railroad  track,  down  the  other  side,  through 
the  fence  there  and  its  fringe  of  bushes  and  high  weeds, 
and  came  out  on  the  comparatively  open  bank  of  the 
swimming-hole,  where  was  a  luxuriant  growth  of  Ber- 
muda grass.  Across  this  she  went  to  the  edge  of  the 
water,  pulled  off  her  old  battered  straw  hat,  and  dropped 


72  White  and  Black 

it  to  the  ground.  The  rest  of  her  garb  consisted  of  a  one- 
piece  dress  made  of  rather  heavy  gingham  and  buttoned 
down  the  back.  She  reached  back  and  unbuttoned  this, 
apparently  having  it  in  mind  to  plunge  in  and  take  a  swim. 
She  was  already  bare-footed,  as  she  wore  no  shoes  while 
working  in  the  field. 

But  if  she  had  intended  to  take  a  swim,  her  mind 
changed,  for  she  sat  down  under  the  shade  of  an  over- 
hanging ash  tree  and  merely  dabbled  her  dusty  feet  in 
the  water.  Through  the  sparse  foliage  above  her  the  sun 
played  hide  and  seek  with  the  bronze  of  her  dripping 
feet  and  the  pale  gold  of  her  glistening  shoulder  disclosed 
by  the  slipping  of  her  unbuttoned  dress.  One  standing 
close  behind  her  and  looking  over,  would  have  seen  that 
her  heart  was  beating  tempestuously. 

Bending  far  back,  she  reached  for  the  hat  where  it  had 
fallen.  "I  better  put  dis  hat  somewhar  now,"  she  thought, 
and  carefully  crushed  it  down  close  to  the  trunk  of  the 
tree. 

Bob  found  his  yearling  well  and  frisky,  and  engaged 
in  the  exchange  of  butting  amenities  with  another  mem- 
ber of  the  small  herd.  In  riding  along  the  fence  he  halted 
at  a  shady  spot  to  watch  the  birth  of  a  calf  from  old 
Brindle,  one  of  the  milking  cows,  and  further  along  the 
begetting  of  another  on  the  body  of  a  restive  heifer.  Such 
sights  were  not  unusual  in  the  pasture,  but  always  had 
for  him  a  singular  fascination,  and  produced  in  him  a 
pleasurable  perturbation. 

This  time,  queerly,  the  heat  of  his  mind  was  tempered 
by  the  recollection  of  his  conversion  during  the  preceding 
summer.  The  scene  came  back  to  him  vividly  of  Brother 
Maxcy's  warm  hand-clasp  at  the  chancel  rail,  of  his  moth- 
er's tearfully  happy  embrace,  of  the  many  members  crowd- 


White  and  Black  73 

ing  around  to  welcome  him  into  the  fold,  of  his  father's 
shy  look  of  rejoicing,  and  of  the  demure  excitement  in 
the  moist  glance  of  Minnie  Deane.  He  remembered  his 
elation  mingled  with  a  sense  of  wonder  whether  anything 
had  really  happened  to  him  to  justify  all  of  that  stir.  But 
at  any  rate  his  father  and  mother  were  greatly  pleased, 
and  he  would  not  have  to  keep  up  any  longer  that  con- 
stant mental  resistance  to  the  pleas  of  hymn  and  sermon 
to  come  and  be  saved.  And  then  his  embarrassment  after 
he  came  out  of  the  church  under  the  eyes  of  many  of  his 
acquaintances  who  were  still  technically  sinners !  How 
quickly  he  had  fled  to  the  family  car  as  a  sort  of  sanc- 
tuary ! 

And  since  then  there  had  been  a  feeling  of  stiffness  and 
estrangement  in  his  intercourse  with  many  of  his  school- 
mates. He  felt  somehow  that  he  had  always  to  be  on  the 
defensive.  And  Harry  Senter  was  not  the  only  one  who 
had  thrown  gibes  at  him.  ''Bob  is  so  damned  good  butter 
wouldn't  melt  in  his  mouth,"  had  said  some  of  them.  And 
at  the  railroad  station  or  post-office  men  would  some- 
times break  off  in  the  middle  of  stories  that  they  were 
telling  to  interested  groups  when  he  approached.  And 
there  would  be  a  quizzical  look  in  their  eyes  as  they 
glanced  at  him.  But  there  were  others  who  seemed  to 
make  a  special  point  of  uttering  the  grossest  obscenities 
in  his  presence  and  of  laughing  at  his  blushes.  And  he 
always  had  an  unpleasant  feeling  that  he  blushed  more 
because  he  knew  they  expected  him  to  blush  than  because 
he  really  was  ashamed  to  hear.  But,  too,  he  truly  had 
experienced  shame  at  the  grossness,  though  it  had  about 
it  a  certain  attractiveness,  because  somehow  it  seemed 
free  and  unrestricted. 

"That's  what's  the  matter,"  he  muttered,  half  sighing 


74  White  and  Black 

as  his  mind  came  back  to  the  here  and  now.    "I  want  a 
little  freedom.    I'm  mortally  tired  of  being  always  cooped 

up"  ^- 

Petulantly  he  spurred  Saladin,  who,  surprised  at  the 
abrupt  dig,  swerved  so  suddenly  as  almost  to  unseat  him. 

"Damn  you!"  exclaimed  Bob,  "I'll  teach  you,"  and 
greatly  to  his  own  surprise  he  found  himself  uttering 
a  string  of  oaths  and  beating  Saladin  over  the  head  with 
his  quirt.  Saladin  reared  and  pitched.  "I'll  ride  you! 
I'll  ride  you!"  Bob  shouted. 

Then  it  was  as  if  he  came  to  himself.  He  dropped  his 
quirt  and  calmed  the  horse  gently.  "Whoa,  Saladin, 
whoa-a-a,  old  feller.  Did  I  abuse  you  ?  Didn't  treat  you 
right,  did  I  ?  Whoa,  whoa,  now,"  and  he  patted  the  horse 
gently  on  the  neck. 

When  Saladin  was  quieted,  Bob  got  down,  picked  up 
the  quirt,  mounted  again,  and  rode  on,  thinking,  "What 
in  the  world  came  over  me?"  But  then  he  smiled,  say- 
ing, "I  can  manage  Saladin  whatever  he  does."  And  then 
after  a  moment,  "I  shore  did  break  loose !"  In  him  there 
was  a  feeling  of  triumph. 

On  around  the  fence  he  rode  until  he  came  to  where  it 
crossed  Berry  Creek,  from  which  point  it  ran  along  the 
far  side,  enclosing  a  stretch  of  the  stream  in  the  pas- 
ture to  afford  a  supply  of  water  for  the  cattle.  Bob  fol- 
lowed the  near  bank  of  the  creek,  looking  across  at  the 
fence  from  time  to  time. 

As  he  neared  the  swimming-hole,  his  mind  reverted  to 
Sally  and  the  incident  of  a  few  days  before.  The  element 
of  comedy  in  it  must  have  come  uppermost  in  his  mind, 
for  he  smiled  at  the  recollection.  But  it  was  an  adven- 
ture, too,  and  he  thought,  "I  believe  I'll  try  it  again  just 
to  see  what  will  happen." 


White  and  Black  75 

As  before,  he  dismounted,  hitched  Saladin  to  a  sapling, 
walked  to  the  bank  of  the  creek,  sat  down,  and  pulled 
off  his  shoes  and  socks.  From  near  at  hand  came  a 
smothered  cry,  "He'p,  he'p,  I'se  drowndin'." 

Sally,  screened  from  his  observation  by  the  trunk  of 
the  ash  tree,  had  wriggled  out  of  her  dress  and  slipped 
quietly  into  the  water. 

Bob  rushed  barefooted  to  the  rescue.  He  waded  out, 
caught  hold  of  the  yellow  hands  waving  above  the  sur- 
face, and  pulled  vigorously  until  he  could  get  a  grip  on 
the  arms  and  lift  the  head  that  remained  stubbornly  under 
the  water.  He  saw  it  was  Sally,  and  came  near  to  letting 
go  his  hold.  He  was  in  a  quandary,  but  there  was  noth- 
ing to  do  except  drag  her  out  on  the  bank. 

She  appeared  almost  lifeless,  so  limp  was  she.  He 
half  carried,  half  dragged  her  to  the  spot  of  luxuriant 
Bermuda  grass,  let  her  fall  prone  upon  it,  and  began  to 
work  her  arms  back  and  forth,  as  he  had  somewhere  heard 
should  be  done  with  half-drowned  people.  She  seemed 
hard  to  resuscitate,  her  breath  came  but  gaspingly,  and 
something  was  the  matter  with  his  own  breathing. 

"This  will  never  do,"  he  said  half  aloud,  "I  must  get 
some  help."  His  eye  fell  on  Sally's  discarded  dress.  He 
let  go  her  hands  and  was  in  the  act  of  turning  to  get  the 
dress  to  spread  over  her  while  he  should  run  and  call  for 
assistance. 

But  suddenly  he  felt  his  bare  foot  clasped,  and  heard, 
"Mr.  Bob,  Mr.  Bob,  don't  leave  me!" 

When  he  did  leave  her,  he  rode  back  across  the  rail- 
road and  along  the  edge  of  John  Ramsey's  field  in  a  sort 
of  exultant,  abashed,  and  remorseful  amazement. 


76  White  and  Black 

From  a  little  distance  down  a  row,  John  waved  his  hand 
and  called,  "Hello,  Mr.  Bob !" 

But  to  Bob,  John  Ramsey  had  taken  on  a  new  aspect. 
For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  felt  the  need  to  think 
before  answering  a  salutation  from  John.  In  his  mind 
there  was  an  apprehension  lest  the  simple  greeting  be- 
trayed unwonted  and  disrespectful  familiarity.  But  in  a 
moment  he  reflected  that  in  fact  it  was  the  same  greeting 
as  always  and  uttered  in  the  same  cheerful  manner.  And 
there  flashed  through  his  brain  the  steadying  thought, 
"How  could  John  know !" 

So  he  waved  back,  "Hello,  John!"  And  he  added  as 
a  further  evidence  of  composure,  "Mighty  hot  this  morn- 
ing, but  you  are  making  the  grass  fly." 

"I  sho'  is,  Mr.  Bob.  But  you  got  yo'  pants  wet.  Is 
you  been  wadin'  de  creek?" 

"No,  it's  nothing,"  said  Bob  glibly.  "I  just  slipped  in." 
And  he  spurred  Saladin  to  a  lope. 

When  he  reached  home,  his  father  was  again  sitting 
on  the  front  porch  reading  the  morning  paper.  Bob  hoped 
he  might  get  by  him  unperceived.  At  any  rate  it  was 
better  to  risk  it  than  to  take  the  chance  of  riding  around 
to  the  back  and  running  the  gauntlet  of  Cyrus,  Cindy,  and 
probably  his  mother.  And  maybe  his  father  wouldn't 
notice  the  dampness  of  his  trousers  after  all,  as  the  sun 
had  nearly  dried  them. 

"Well,  Bob?"  said  his  father. 

"Old  Brindle  has  got  a  new  calf,  Papa." 

"That's  good.  But  your  breeches  are  wet.  Did  you 
fall  in  the  creek?" 

It  popped  into  Bob's  mind  and  he  said,  but  with  some 
confusion,  "I  went  to  water  Saladin  and  my  quirt  dropped 


White  and  Black  77 

into  the  creek,  and  I  had  to  ride  deeper  to  get  it  than 
I  expected."  And  he  hurried  into  the  house. 

Mr.  Robertson  thought,  "The  quirt  is  loaded  and  would 
have  sunk  immediately.  And  his  shoes  have  not  been  wet, 
and  why  the  hurry  ?  Why  the  confusion  ?" 

Then  he  rose  and  himself  led  Saladin  to  the  water 
trough  at  the  rear.  The  horse  drank  greedily.  "This 
horse  has  had  no  water  since  leaving  home  this  morn- 
ing," he  said  to  himself,  his  brows  knitted  in  thought, 
"I  wonder." 

When  Sally  came  back  to  the  field,  she  said  to  John, 
"We  gwine  to  git  de  paschur  all  right.  You  kin  ax  him 
any  time  now." 

"Nunck-unh,"  said  John,  "you  can't  fool  me  wid  your 
big  talk.  You  wuzn't  keerin'  nuthin'  about  no  paschur 
anyhow.  We  got  to  clean  out  dis  fieF.  Git  to  it !" 

But  Sally  pitched  her  hoe  into  the  rank  growth  of  big 
weeds  by  the  branch,  and  with  a  toss  of  her  head  started 
to  the  house. 

"Waal,  I  'clar  to  goodness,  she  must  ha',"  said  John. 


CHAPTER  XII 

THE  store  of  Thompson  &  Co.  faced  east.  In  the  after- 
noon the  wooden  gallery  in  front  of  it  was  shady.  Mr. 
Hiram  Shorter  was  fond  of  company  and  of  talk,  so  he 
had  placed  a  wooden  bench  and  two  or  three  empty 
cracker-boxes  on  this  gallery,  and  there  was  always  a 
chair  or  so  in  the  doorway  of  the  store. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  sixteenth  the  congregation  of 
porch  gossipers  consisted  of  Mr.  Hiram  Shorter  himself, 
Mr.  Robertson,  Brother  Maxcy,  Judge  Mowry,  a  law- 
yer and  the  skeptic  of  the  town,  Mr.  Tony  Peters,  Randy 
Shallow,  Dr.  Anderson,  and  Bob  Randell  and  Mr.  Prouty, 
who  never  had  amounted  to  much  and  who  now  sat  on 
the  edge  of  the  floor  and  leaned  against  the  gallery  posts, 
and  two  poor  whites  from  the  piney  woods  who  squatted 
on  their  haunches  out  in  front. 

"I  just  finished  reading  a  book  yesterday  on  the  nigger 
question  written  by  a  man  in  Boston,"  said  Judge  Mowry, 
"of  all  the  rot !  It  was  the  damnedest — I  beg  your  pardon, 
Brother  Maxcy,  but  there  ain't  no  weaker  word  that'll  do 
it  justice — the  damnedest  stuff!" 

"Just  about  the  usual  thing,  I  reckon,"  said  Mr.  Hiram. 

"Well,  yes,  and  then  some,"  said  Judge  Mowry.  "Any- 
body would  think  from  readin*  it  that  we  spend  all  of 
our  time  down  here  lynchin'  niggers." 

"The  only  trouble  that  I  see,"  said  Mr.  Prouty,  chang- 
ing his  tobacco  to  his  other  jaw,  "is  that  we  don't  lynch 
enough  of  'em." 

One  of  the  piney  woods  men,  Zeke  Stallins,  with  his 

78 


White  and  Black  79 

left  hand  pulled  out  his  lower  lip,  and  into  the  cavity 
thus  formed  he  poured  with  his  right  about  half  a  box 
of  snuff.  The  other  one  said  in  answer  to  Mr.  Prouty, 
"Now  you're  shoutin'." 

"Zeke,  don't  you  take  a  lot  of  snuff  at  one  time  ?"  asked 
Brother  Maxcy  smiling. 

"Yas,  Parson,  I  always  b'lieve  in  bein'  liberal  with 
myse'f .  Ptui !"  he  answered  solemnly. 

"That  trait,  I  observe,  is  a  very  common  one,"  said 
Brother  Maxcy. 

"Well,  it's  the  only  way  to  git  ahead,"  said  Randy  Shal- 
low. "I've  noticed  that  these  fellers  that  are  so  liberal 
with  everybody  else  is  always  in  debt  to  their  creditors." 
And  he  cast  a  glance  at  Mr.  Robertson. 

"Specially  with  niggers,"  said  Mr.  Tony  Peters. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Mr.  Hiram,  "I'd  as  soon  trust 
a  nigger  as  a  white  man.  I'd  rather  trust  some  of  'em. 
They'll  pay  you  if  they  ever  get  the  money." 

"But  I  ain't  got  time  to  wait  on  'em  always,"  said 
Tony  Peters.  "I  let  'em  have  money  on  their  stock,  but 
if  they  don't  pay  when  their  time  is  up,  I  go  and  git  the 
stock.  That  little  new  whipper-snapper  in  the  bank  asked 
me  if  I  wuzn't  goin'  to  foreclose  and  sue  and  git  judg- 
ment and  advertise  and  sell'  and  all  that  when  Bill  Haw- 
kins'  note  fell  due  last  month  on  his  team.  I  told  him  I 
knew  somethin'  to  beat  that,  I'd  jus'  go  out  and  git 
the  team.  And  I  done  it,  an'  I  notified  the  clerk  to  mark 
the  mortgage  released.  Of  course  if  it  had  have  been 
one  of  Will  Robertson's  niggers,  I  would  have  gone  to 
Will  and  got  the  money,  and  the  nigger  never  would 
have  paid  Will,  ha !  ha !  ha !" 

"Oh,  some  of  'em  pay  me,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  em- 
barrassed. 


8o  White  and  Black 

"Well,  at  any  rate,"  hastened  Brother  Maxcy  to  the 
rescue,  "a  nigger  is  a  human  being  and  ought  to  be  treated 
like  one." 

"Sometimes  I  think  they  are,  and  sometimes  I  think 
they  ain't,"  said  Randy  Shallow.  "But  I  don't  think  a 
nigger  ought  to  be  lynched,  jus'  for  stealin'  or  somethin' 
like  that.  That's  natchul.  They  can't  he'p  it.  Of  co'se 
when  they  git  so  impident  you  can't  do  nuthin'  with  'em, 
or  they  commit  murder  or  rape  some  woman,  that's  dif- 
ferent." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  about  stealin',"  said  Mr.  Tony 
Peters. 

"What  do  you  think,  Will,  about  this  lynchin'  busi- 
ness?" asked  Judge  Mowry. 

"Oh,  you  know  what  I  think,"  answered  Mr.  Robert- 
son. "I  think  every  man,  white  or  black,  has  a  right  to 
a  fair  trial  when  he  is  accused  of  a  crime." 

"But  suppose  it  was  some  of  your  own  women  folks." 

"Yes,  how  about  that?"  exclaimed  Randy  Shallow. 
"Put  the  shoe  on  your  own  foot." 

"Well,  I  don't  know — "  began  Mr.  Robertson. 

"Oh,  he  don't  know  when  it  comes  home  to  him,"  chuck- 
led Mr.  Tony  Peters. 

"Isn't  it  this  way,"  said  Brother  Maxcy,  "that  no  man, 
no  honest  man,  can  say  that  he  would  be  an  unbiased 
judge  when  a  thing  like  that  comes  home  to  him?  What 
he  would  want  to  do,  what  he  would  want  to  have  done, 
maybe  wouldn't  be  the  just  or  right  thing,  and  in  his  mo- 
ments of  coolness  he  knows  that  he  ought  not  then  to  be 
the  judge." 

"But  think  of  it,  Brother  Maxcy,"  said  Judge  Mowry, 
"she  is  a  white  woman.  She  hasn't  done  anything.  And 


White  and  Black  81 

think  of  the  horror  of  it  to  her.  And  then  are  you  going 
to  bring  her  up  before  a  judge  and  jury  and  a  court-room 
full  of  people  and  make  her  testify  to  the  soul-racking 
details  of  her  own  shame,  just  to  give  a  damn  black  brute 
a  fair  trial?  No,  suh,  by  God!  I'm  a  lawyer,  but  I'll 
be  damned  if  I'll  ever  advocate  anything  like  that." 

"Hooray!"  shouted  Zeke,  "now  you're  handin'  it  out, 
Jedge!" 

"Yes,  they  ought  to  be  hung  then  and  there,"  said  Mr. 
Hiram  Shorter. 

"Hangin',  hell!"  said  Mr.  Tony  Peters,  "hangin's  too 
good  for  'em.  I  say  burn  'em,  and  you  can't  make  the 
fire  too  hot." 

"All  that's  so,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  "but  how's  a  mob 
to  know  whether  they've  got  the  right  man  or  not. 
They're  not  going  to  take  time — " 

"Time,  the  devil!"  said  Judge  Mowry,  "of  course  a 
mob  ought  to  be  careful,  but  what  if  they  do  make  a  mis- 
take once  in  a  while?  Ain't  that  better  than  lettin'  any 
of  the  black  brutes  escape  and  ruin  your  home  or  mine? 
Suppose  we  do  burn  a  few  extra  ones.  What  then  ?  We'll 
make  'em  see  that  if  we  don't  get  one,  we'll  get  another, 
and  they  all  better  look  out.  But  did  you  ever  hear  of 
a  mob  gettin'  the  wrong  one?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  about  that,"  answered  Mr.  Robert- 
son, "no  man  can  know.  But  fortunately  we've  had 
mighty  little  of  that  sort  of  thing  in  this  community.  Our 
niggers  are  for  the  most  part  well-behaved." 

"Well,  they  better  be,"  said  Randy  Shallow,  "and  they 
know  it." 

"That  Boston  feller  said  in  his  book  that  when  any 
raping  was  done  by  niggers,  if  ever — mind  you,  if  ever 


82  White  and  Black 

— it  was  out  of  revenge  because  of  the  conduct  of  the 
white  men  with  the  nigger  women.  What  do  you  think 
of  that,  Brother  Maxcy?" 

"I  don't  think  so,"  answered  Brother  Maxcy.  "But 
what  do  you  think,  Dr.  Anderson?  You  haven't  said 
a  word  this  evening." 

"Well,"  answered  the  doctor,  "I  don't  think  so,  either. 
My  notion  is  that  niggers  are  an  inferior  race  and  can't 
control  themselves  so  well,  and  besides  they  naturally 
have  stronger  passions  than  we  do,  men  and  women.  And 
one  of  'em  gets  to  thinking  and  thinking  and  his  chance 
comes,  and  blooie !  he  blows  up." 

"But  do  they  have  stronger  passions  ?"  asked  the  judge. 

"Mr.  Hiram  ought  to  know  about  that,"  answered 
the  doctor,  winking  at  Randy  Shallow. 

Randy  laughed,  "Ha!  ha!  ha!" 

Mr.  Hiram  blushed  scarlet,  and  couldn't  find  any  ready 
answer  to  make. 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Tony  Peters,  "no,  I  don't  believe  he 
has  ever  had  a  chance  to  make  any  comparisons.  His 
calculations  have  been  all  on  one  side  of  the  ledger,  so 
to  speak.  Ha !  ha !  ha !  Doc,  speak  for  yourself." 

"No,"  answered  the  doctor,  "we  are  not  at  an  experi- 
ence meetin',  eh,  Brother  Maxcy?  This  is  a  free-for-all, 
open  discussion  of  an  abstract  question,"  and  he  grinned. 

"I  am  afraid,"  said  Brother  Maxcy,  "that  there 
wouldn't  be  much  stone  throwing  here  if  we  followed 
the  biblical  injunction  and  only  let  him  who  is  without 
sin  throw  the  first  one." 

"I  move  we  poll  the  jury,"  said  Randy  Shallow,  "begin- 
ning with  Zeke.  Zeke  Stebbins,  layin*  your  hand  on  your 
heart  and  so  help  you  God,  have  you  ever —  ?" 

"Now,  look'ee  here,"  said  Mr.  Hiram,  much  to  the  re- 


White  and  Black  83 

lief  of  Mr.  Robertson,  the  doctor,  the  judge,  and  Brother 
Maxcy,  "I  think  this  thing  is  gettin'  too  personal.  I'm 
not  claimin'  to  be  so  good  myself,  but  we've  got  to  have 
some  respect  for  Brother  Maxcy's  calling." 

It  was  Brother  Maxcy's  turn  to  blush.  "No,"  he  said, 
"don't  consider  me.  I'm  willing  to  take  my  turn  along 
with  the  others." 

"No,"  said  the  judge,  "we  all  know  that  if  you  should 
not  plead  guilty,  having  grown  up  in  the  South,  there 
would  be  those  here  who  would  think  you  are  lying.  And 
if  you  should  plead  guilty,  some  of  us  would  be  too  glad 
of  it,  and  use  it  as  an  excuse.  If  all  of  the  preachers  were 
like  you,  Brother  Maxcy,  I  might  be  different  from  what 
I  am.  But  they  are  not ;  no,  not  by  a  hell  of  sight." 

Randy  Shallow  winked  at  Tony  Peters,  who  grinned 
maliciously,  and  Zeke  brought  down  the  house  by  saying, 
"I  never  did  have  no  use  for  nigger  women  nohow,  did 
you,  Randy?" 

"About  the  way  I  figure  it  out,"  said  Mr.  Robertson 
when  the  laughter  had  subsided,  "is  that  here  it's  pretty 
much  as  it  is  everywhere  else.  Here  most  of  the  women 
who  happen  to  be  poor  and  ignorant  are  niggers,  and — " 

"Damn  you,  Will  Robertson,  air  you  goin'  to  say  that 
all  the  women  that  is  pore — "  flared  up  the  other  piney 
woods  man,  Zeke's  companion. 

"No,  wait  a  minute,  don't  fly  off  the  handle,  I  was 
going  to  say  that  it  is  easier  everywhere  to  take  advantage 
of  a  woman  that  is  poor  and  ignorant,  and  here  the  nigger 
women  form  a  sort  of  bulwark  to  protect  the  white.  It's 
a  rare  thing  to  find  a  loose  white  woman  in  this  com- 
munity. I  don't  know  of  a  single  one,  do  you?"  He 
turned  to  the  piney  woods  man  who  had  just  spoken. 

"Waal,  I  wouldn't  go  as  fur  as  that,"  said  he,  "but  they 


84  White  and  Black 

air  skeerse.  There's  maybe  a  gal  or  two  slips  up  once 
in  a  while,  but  once  married,  our  women  air  jes'  nacherly 
good." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Hiram,  "a  Southern  lady  is  a  little 
lower  than  an  angel,  and  mighty  little  at  that." 

"That  does  your  heart  credit,  Mr.  Hiram,"  said  Brother 
Maxcy. 

"Not  to  say  nuthin'  about  his  head,"  spoke  up  Randy 
Shallow,  "but  it  ain't  only  ignorance  and  poverty,  Will, 
and  the  blame  ain't  all  on  the  side  of  the  men." 

"Randy,  you  ought  to  know,"  said  Doctor  Anderson 
smiling.  Then  he  added,  "No,  Randy  is  right  partly  and 
Will  is  right  partly.  Inferior  races,  like  the  mentally 
weak,  are  both  more  subject  to  sexual  passion  and  less 
capable  of  any  kind  of  restraint,  men  and  women.  And 
of  course  women  have  passions,  too.  And  everywhere 
the  world  over,  women  look  up  to  and  worship  and  give 
themselves  to  the  conquerors.  In  our  cities  a  rich  man 
can  marry  nearly  any  woman  he  wants.  Why  ?  Because 
he  is  dominant.  It  is  not  altogether  that  she  is  bought. 
It  is  more  because  she  wants  to  lord  it  over  the  other 
women  and  have  them  envying  her.  Of  course  here  nig- 
ger women  can't  marry  white  men.  It's  against  the  law, 
and  rightly.  But  to  be  personal,  Will,  take  your  son 
Bob.  He  is  one  of  the  outstanding  young  men  of  this 
community,  and  nearly  any  nigger  girl  here  would  be 
glad  to — to — have  relations  with  him,  and  would  brag 
about  it  afterwards." 

"But  is  it  your  real  belief,  doctor,  that  no  nigger  women 
are  virtuous?"  asked  Brother  Maxcy. 

"Notice,  Brother  Maxcy,  that  I  said  nearly  any  nigger 
girl.  To  be  personal  again,  I  believe  that  Joe  Williams's 
girls  are  as  virtuous  as  any  white  woman  in  the  coun- 


White  and  Black  8jJ 

try.  They've  been  brought  up  right.  But  they  will  have 
a  harder  fight  to  stay  virtuous  than  white  girls  have,  both 
on  account  of  the  race  to  which  they  belong  and  on  ac- 
count of  the  circumstances  in  which  they  find  themselves." 

"From  what  you  say,  Doc,"  spoke  Tony  Peters,  "any- 
body would  think  that  nigger  women  are  mighty  virtuous 
when  it  comes  to  men  of  their  own  color,  while  you  and 
I  know—" 

"Yes,"  broke  in  Randy  Shallow,  "they  tell  me  that  that 
long  black  Baptis'  preacher  is  usin'  round  Joe  Williams's 
house  a  whole  lot  now  with  his  eye  on  Lucindy  if  nuthin' 
more,  and  I  bet  there's  plenty  more.  Ha !  ha !  ha !  You 
see  what  becomes  of  your  virtuous  nigger  women,  Doc." 

"Well,"  said  Brother  Maxcy,  "I  know  that  preacher,  and 
I  believe  he  is  a  good  man  trying  to  help  his  people." 

"Been  off  to  college,  hasn't  he  ?  Ha !  ha !  ha !"  said  Bob 
Randell.  "Think  of  that,  a  nigger  been  off  to  college, 
and  talks  as  proper  as  hell!  Don't  it  kill  you  though? 
Ha !  ha !  ha !  And  dresses  up  as  slick  as  a  brass  button. 
I  bet  he's  puttin'  all  sorts  of  foolishness  in  the  other 
niggers'  heads.  He  ought  to  be  run  out  of  the  country, 
that's  what  I  say." 

"Let's  see,"  said  the  judge,  "where  did  he  go?" 

"He  went  off  to  school  somewhere  in  Texas,  then  in 
Alabama,  I  believe,  and  then  to  some  theological  seminary 
up  North,"  said  Brother  Maxcy.  "How  Tobe  Sanders, 
his  old  daddy,  kept  him  a-going,  I  don't  know.  Old  Tobe 
hasn't  got  anything.  He  just  rents  some  land  and  farms 
it  like  these  other  niggers  around  here." 

"I  thought  them  theological  seminaries  was  colleges 
for  white  folks,"  said  Tony  Peters. 

"Oh,  they  all  go  together  up  there,"  said  the  judge. 


86  White  and  Black 

"God  a'mighty!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Prouty,  "what's  this 
country  a-comin'  to?" 

"He's  named  Richard,  ain't  he?"  said  the  judge.  "Yes, 
Richard  Sanders." 

"Yes,  that's  his  name,"  said  Mr.  Hiram,  "Tobe  is  a 
good  old  nigger,  and  he  mighty  nigh  starved  himself  and 
the  rest  of  the  family  to  death  to  keep  Richard  up.  I 
know,  because  he  trades  with  us." 

"Well,  the  nigger  will  come  out  in  this  holy  Richard 
yet.  He  gives  me  a  pain,"  said  Tony  Peters. 

"I  expect  it  will,"  said  the  judge. 

"More  than  likely,"  agreed  Dr.  Anderson.  "At  any 
rate  he  hasn't  got  much  of  a  chance  to  stand  out  against 
the  women.  He  won't  have  to  be  running  after  them. 
They'll  be  running  after  him." 

"If  I  wuz  a  nigger,  I'd  sho'  be  a  preacher,"  said  Zeke. 

All  joined  in  a  laugh  and  looked  quizzically  at  Brother 
Maxcy,  who  said,  not  without  embarrassment,  "Well, 
Zeke,  I  suppose  it  is  a  good  thing  for  both  of  us  that  we 
are  not  niggers." 

"But  they  tell  me,  Mr.  Will,"  said  Mr.  Hiram,  "that 
you  are  goin'  to  let  John  Ramsey  give  the  Nineteenth 
Celebration  in  your  little  pasture." 

"Yes,  he  begged  so  hard,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  "and 
he  has  been  working  mighty  well  here  lately." 

"Oh,"  said  Tony  Peters,  "that's  what  he  got  that  sixty 
dollars  from  me  on  his  team  for!" 

"The  dog-gone  rascal!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Robertson,  "he 
told  me  he  didn't  have  any  money  at  all,  and  I  let  him 
have  ten  dollars." 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!"  laughed  Tony  Peters. 

"Well,"  said  Randy  Shallow,  "if  his  note  reads  just 


White  and  Black  87 

sixty  and  he  give  it  to  Tony,  I  bet  he  ain't  got  any  money 
to  throw  away." 

The  laugh  was  on  Tony  Peters,  but  he  diverted  it  by 
asking,  "What  do  you  fellers  think  of  this  here  new  Ku 
Klux  Klan?  I  see  they  tarred  and  feathered  a  feller 
down  to  Houston  the  other  day.  And  that  ain't  all  they 
done,  they  made  a  lady  out  of  him.  Ha !  ha !  ha !  they 
shore  did." 

"Yes,  I  read  about  it,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  "I  think 
it  is  a  cowardly  thing  for  a  band  of  masked  men  to  waylay 
and  assault  any  citizen  of  our  country,  white  or  black." 

"Wuz  this  feller  white  or  black?"  asked  Zeke. 

"He  was  white,"  answered  Mr.  Robertson. 

"What  had  he  been  a-doin'?" 

"They  say  he'd  been  runnin'  with  a  nigger  woman," 
answered  Tony  Peters. 

"Lawd  sakes !"  exclaimed  Zeke,  "did  they  treat  him  that 
a-way  jes'  for  that?" 

"Yes,"  said  Judge  Mowry,  "there  have  been  several 
cases  of  that  kind  in  the  State  recently  and  over  the 
South  generally.  The  Ku  Klux  say  they  are  going 
to  maintain  race  purity  and  see  that  whites  and  blacks 
don't  mix." 

"I  don't  know  anything  that  has  distressed  me  more 
than  this  disregard  of  law  and  order,"  said  Doctor  Ander- 
son. "And  the  crimes  of  these  gangs  are  committed  under 
the  pretext  of  aiding  the  law.  It's  abominable.  It's 
damnable !  Mark  my  words,  it  won't  be  long  before  they 
will  be  tarring  and  feathering  some  defenseless  woman !" 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  any  Texan  would  do  that,"  said 
Brother  Maxcy,  "surely  we  are  not  as  bad  as  that.  But 
it  seems  to  me  the  officers  of  the  law  are  scared  of  this 


88  White  and  Black 

Klan,  and  if  it  is  not  stopped  soon  we  will  have  the  whole 
country  overrun  by  masked  bands  committing  murders 
and  midnight  assaults  for  private  revenge  or  from  pure 
malice." 

"Right  you  are,"  said  Judge  Mowry.  "The  thing's  got 
to  be  stopped,  but  it  looks  like  the  Ku  Klux  Klan  are 
spreadin'  everywhere,  there's  a  new  white-cap  procession 
with  a  flaming  cross  or  some  such  damn  foolishness  in  a 
different  county  nearly  every  night  of  late." 

"Do  they  wear  them  white  robes  an'  things  ever'  time 
they  go  after  a  feller?"  asked  Zeke. 

"No,  it  seems  not,"  answered  Judge  Mowry,  "but  usually 
they  wear  a  mask  of  some  kind.  If  a  real  scrimmage 
should  come  up,  I  imagine  the  flowing  white  robes  might 
be  in  the  way.  The  costume  seems  to  be  kept  mainly  for 
full-dress  occasions,  so  to  speak." 

"What  if  they  was  to  come  here,  Randy,  what  would 
you  and  Mr.  Hiram  and  Henry  Thompson  and  a  lot  of 
other  fellers  around  here  do?"  asked  Tony  Peters. 

"I  don't  know  what  the  others  would  do,"  answered 
Randy,  "but  I'd  join  'em.  I'd  rather  be  on  the  inside  look- 
in'  out,  than  on  the  outside  bein'  tarred  an'  feathered — 
not  to  speak  of  nuthin'  else,"  and  he  grinned. 

"Would  you  jine  'em,  Mr.  Hiram?"  asked  Zeke. 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Hiram,  shortly,  "would  you?" 

"Waal,  I  don'  know,  I  sorter  think  it  would  be  right 
smart  fun  to  take  some  of  these  fellers  out  here  an' 
man-handle  'em.  Of  course  I  wouldn't  want  to  ruin  no 
man,  but  a  little  tar  and  feather  would  show  some  of 
'em  up  pretty  good,  hunh,  Mr.  Prouty?" 

Mr.  Prouty  and  Bob  Randell  laughed  as  did  Zeke's 
companion,  and  Mr.  Prouty  answered,  "It  might  take  the 
pride  out  of  some  of  'em  as  is  so  high  an'  mighty  an' 


White  and  Black  89 

pious  like,  you  know,"  and  he  cut  his  eye  at  Mr.  Hiram. 

"They'd  sho'  git  old  Henry  Thompson  first  pop,"  sur- 
mised Tony  Peters. 

"Don't  you  think  it?"  said  Bob  Randell,  "he'd  be  the 
fust  one  to  jine.  He'd  kinder  have  to  jine  in  self-defense. 
I  wouldn't  be  s'prised  if  he  wuz  to  start  it  up  hisse'f ,  jes' 
to  be  on  the  safe  side." 

"No,  he's  too  bashful  to  start  anything  like  that,"  said 
Randy  Shallow,  "but  it's  a  funny  thing  about  Henry.  He 
ain't  a  bit  bashful  when  it  comes  to  fightin'  men.  Jes' 
make  him  mad,  and  you'll  see.  He'll  kill  you  quicker'n 
a  flash.  He's  bashful  all  right,  but  he  ain't  skeered  of 
nuthin'." 

"Well,  I  don'  know,"  said  Tony  Peters,  "they  wear 
masks,  don't  they?  Seems  to  me  that's  where  a  bashful 
man  would  shine," 

"That's  where  cowards  shine,"  said  Brother  Maxcy. 

"If  they  want  to  purify  the  morals  of  the  country  and 
help  enforce  the  law,  why  don't  they  come  out  openly?" 
asked  Mr.  Robertson. 

"They  are  liars  and  the  sons  of  liars  and  cowardly 
skulks,"  said  Judge  Mowry,  "that's  why !  There  are  lots 
of  things  I  don't  believe,  but  I  know  good  and  well  that 
if  the  morals  of  this  country  are  to  be  purified,  it's  the 
church  and  them  that  train  with  it  that'll  have  to  do  the 
job,  and  it  won't  be  done  by  intimidation  and  assault  and 
murder  by  masked  men  at  night." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Prouty,  "I  wasn't  meanin'  no  harm. 
I  was  jes'  sorter  jokin',  you  know,  about  takin'  the  pride 
out  of  anybody." 

"I  don't  reckon  they'll  come  here  anyhow,"  said  Randy 
Shallow,  "but  if  they  do,  I  know  good  an'  well  there'll 
be  lots  of  fellers  that'll  join  'em,  an'  most  of  'em'll  be 


90  White  and  Black 

like  me,  join  'em  in  self-defense,  they'll  be  try  in*  to  do 
unto  the  other  feller  like  he  would  do  unto  you  an'  do 
it  fust.  I  know  in  reason  that  nobody  like  Brother  Maxcy 
or  Will  Robertson  or  Judge  Mowry  or  Dr.  Anderson 
would  join,  and  so  does  everybody  else." 

"But,  really,  I  think  the  thing  is  due  in  large  measure 
to  such  unrest  as  is  bound  to  follow  a  great  war,  and 
that  it  will  subside  as  suddenly  as  it  comes,"  said  Brother 
Maxcy,  "but  it  must  be  said  to  their  credit  that  they 
do  make  some  donations  to  charity." 

The  whistle  of  the  afternoon  train  was  heard,  and  the 
assembly  adjourned  hurriedly  to  the  station  to  see  who 
was  coming  and  going,  and  to  connect  themselves  pleas- 
urably,  for  a  moment,  with  the  vast  outside  world  by 
close  proximity  to  its  visible  and  tangible  symbol. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

ON  the  morning  of  the  seventeenth,  John  Ramsey,  his 
family,  and  five  or  six  outside  Negroes,  who  were  prom- 
ised free  barbecue  and  lemonade  in  payment  for  their 
help,  set  to  work  in  the  little  pasture  to  make  all  ready 
for  the  celebration. 

They  had  to  dig  the  barbecue  pit,  make  brush  arbors 
for  shade,  put  up  rough  booths  for  lemonade  and  bottled 
soda-water,  arrange  a  table  of  pine  boards,  make  a  few 
benches,  lay  off  a  foot-race  course  and  smooth  a  place 
for  broad  jumping,  convert  a  long  pine  sapling  into  a 
greased  pole  and  erect  it,  and  assemble  fuel  for  the  bar- 
becuing. 

John  had  ordered  a  supply  of  baker's  bread  and  ice 
from  the  city  through  Mr.  Hiram  Shorter  and  also  a 
few  watermelons  at  a  cost  of  a  dollar  and  a  half  apiece. 
For  in  spite  of  all  the  Negroes  could  do,  they  couldn't 
get  their  watermelons  ripe  for  the  Nineteenth.  The  ones 
that  John  ordered  had  been  shipped  from  Florida  or  South 
Georgia.  But  John  knew  well  he  could  sell  them  at  a 
profit  by  the  slice,  although  they  would  be  very  dear. 

Early  in  the  afternoon  Joe  Williams  delivered  the  year- 
ling steer,  skinned,  dressed,  and  ready  for  the  fire,  at  a 
cost  of  seventeen  dollars  and  fifteen  cents.  Joe  had  the 
reputation  of  never  selling  anything  unless  he  got  a  little 
more.  It  was  a  common  thing  to  see  along  the  roads  of 
the  region  advertising  signs  of  local  merchants  bearing 
the  inscription,  "We  sell  for  less."  Joe's  acquaintances 
were  unanimous  in  thinking  that  he  ought  to  have  a  sign 


92  White  and  Black 

over  his  house,  warning,  "I  sell  for  more."  But  John 
had  whittled  him  down  from  eighteen  dollars  and  a 
quarter  to  seventeen  dollars  and  fifteen  cents  with  one 
helping  of  barbecued  meat  to  be  thrown  in  gratis. 

About  dark,  Madison  Mulberry  came  with  the  two 
shotes.  They  were  fat  and  prime  and  dressed  in  proper 
form,  except  that  their  ears  were  missing. 

"How  come,  Brother  Mulberry,  dat  dese  shotes  ain't 
got  no  years,"  asked  John,  "wuz  dey  deef  ?  Haw !  haw ! 
haw !  wuz  dey  deef  ?" 

"Oh,  go  'long,  Ramsey,  gi'  me  my  ten  dollars.  I  ain't 
got  no  time  to  fool  wid  you,"  answered  Madison. 

"Waal,  de  way  I  looks  at  it,"  said  John,  "is,  dat  eve'y 
shote  ought  to  have  years.  Years  is  de  bes'  part  of  a 
shote  when  he  is  bobbycued,  but  I  ain't  gwine  to  be  hard 
on  you,  Brother  Mulberry,  I'll  jes'  knock  off  ten  cents 
a  year.  Two  shotes  would  have  fo'  years,  an'  dat  would 
come  to  forty  cents,  an'  a  dime  for  good  luck,  so  nine 
dollars  an'  a  half,  take  it  or  leave  it."  John  was  profit- 
ing by  his  recent  trading  bout  with  Brother  Williams. 

"Gi'  me  de  money,"  said  Madison,  "I  wouldn't  scrape 
fo'  years  of  a  shote  in  dis  hot  weather  for  no  forty  cents. 
I  cut  'em  off  and  pitched  'em  to  my  dawgs.  Gi'  me  de 
money." 

John  counted  him  out  nine  dollars  and  a  half.  Madison 
took  it,  and  hurried  away,  as  he  wanted  to  get  across 
the  county  line  to  Farmville,  where  prohibition  was  not 
so  strictly  enforced  as  in  Compton  county.  Though  by 
no  means  a  drunkard,  Madison  had  a  weakness  for  whis- 
key, against  which  he  did  not  struggle  very  strenuously, 
especially  when  a  celebration  was  on  hand. 

"I  reckon  I  kin  git  dar  in  time  if  I  hurries,"  said  Mad- 
ison to  himself,  as  he  drove  along  in  his  ramshackle 


White  and  Black  93 

buggy.  "I  didn't  have  no  time  to  fool  'long  wid  dat 
little  f o'  bits.  Anyhow  I  got  me  some  money  for  de  Nine- 
teenth. Haw !  haw  !  haw !  Come  up  hyeer,  Moll,  you  got 
to  beat  dat  gait,"  and  he  whacked  the  mule  vigorously 
with  the  long  stem  of  a  coffee  weed  that  he  had  cut  for 
a  buggy  whip. 

By  nine  o'clock  that  night  John  and  his  gang  had  every- 
thing ready  for  the  morrow.  "When  I  thinks  'bout  dat 
bobbycue,"  said  one  of  his  helpers,  "my  mouf  fair  drib- 
bles at  de  cawners." 

The  Ramsey  family  went  to  bed,  but  could  hardly  sleep 
for  eager  expectancy.  Anyhow  they  were  to  rise  before 
day  to  light  the  fire  in  the  pits  and  be  ready  to  begin  on 
time  the  actual  work  of  the  barbecuing.  Even  Liza  felt 
a  thrill  of  pride  in  John  as  she  prefigured  him  turning  over 
the  carcasses  and  basting  them  with  a  mixture  of  sauces, 
while  crowds  of  expectant  Negroes  stood  by  and  watched 
with  envious  glances  from  greedy  eyes.  And  in  a  sense 
she  was  to  be  queen  of  the  occasion,  as  her  husband 
would  be  its  central  figure.  And  her  mind  ran  delight- 
fully on  to  what  they  would  do  with  the  hundred  dol- 
lars or  more  of  profit.  A  gaudy  new  dress  and  patent- 
leather  shoes  for  herself  were  the  very  least  that  she 
could  imagine. 

At  earliest  dawn  they  arose.  "It  looks  mighty  cloudy," 
said  Rosy. 

"Hurry  up,  eve'ybody,  an'  git  out  to  de  paschur,"  com- 
manded John,  "dem  ain't  nuthin'  but  Gulf  clouds.  Dey'll 
be  gone  in  an  hour.  Hustle,  folks,  you  kin  come  back 
after  a  while  an'  put  on  yo'  Sunday  clo'es.  We  got  to 
git  things  to  goin'  befo'  dem  niggers  gethers." 

They  crossed  the  road  to  the  little  pasture,  built  the 
fires,  put  the  iron  bars  across  the  pits,  brought  out  the 


94  White  and  Black 

meat,  got  ready  the  mixture  of  sauces,  and  began  the 
cooking.  At  seven  o'clock  it  commenced  to  sprinkle  rain. 

"Gaad  a'mighty,"  said  John,  "if  you  ever  is  gwine  to 
do  anything  for  dis  nigger,  do  it  now.  Don't  let  it  rain. 
All  I  axes  you,  Gaad,  is  don't  let  it  rain." 

It  held  up  a  little  while.  "I  believe  it  is  goin'  to  clar 
up  after  all,"  said  Liza. 

"It  better,"  answered  John. 

At  nine  o'clock  the  meat  was  nearly  done.  Many 
Negroes  dressed  in  gala  attire  had  arrived.  Then  it  began 
to  pour.  John  strove  valiantly  with  many  volunteer  help- 
ers to  keep  the  fires  going,  and  finish  the  cooking,  but  in 
vain. 

"Eve'ybody  come  over  to  our  house,"  cried  Sally,  as  she 
ran  for  shelter,  "we  gwine  to  have  some  Nineteenth  after 
all." 

Many  followed  her  with  feminine  shrieks  and  male  guf- 
faws. John's  house  was  crowded  full  of  wet  and  drag- 
gled Negroes.  But  still  they  were  in  a  crowd  and  it 
was  still  the  Nineteenth,  so  that  not  all  their  merriment 
was  drowned.  The  house  was  full  to  suffocation,  but 
with  the  help  of  some  of  the  male  guests,  Sally  managed 
to  clear  a  space  at  the  back  end  of  the  open  hall-way,  and 
to  place  there  the  kitchen  table.  Soon  she  had  installed 
Tom,  her  oldest  brother,  behind  it,  and  was  crying,  "Come 
on,  hyeer's  yo'  ice-cold  soda-water,  lemonade,  and 
watermillon,"  for  these  dainties  had  not  yet  been  carried 
to  the  pasture,  "come  on,  buy  'em  cheap  an'  fall  back. 
De  bobbycue'll  be  on  hand  toreckly." 

But  the  crowd  hung  back.  "Come  on,"  cried  Sally, 
"git  'em  at  half  de  reg'lar  price.  Two  bottles  of  soda 
for  five  cents,  two  glasses  of  lemonade  for  a  nickel, 
watermillon  ten  cents  a  slish." 


White  and  Black  95 

The  crowd  came  and  bought.  Sally  and  Tom  were 
doing  a  rushing,  if  not  profitable,  business,  when  John, 
wet  and  dispirited,  slunk  in.  Sally  stopped  for  a  moment 
to  go  to  him  and  say,  "Papa,  go  an'  bring  in  some  of  de 
meat." 

"But  it  ain't  done,  Sally?" 

"Dat  don't  make  no  diffunce,  we  got  to  save  whut  we 
kin.  Dey'll  buy  some  of  it  at  half  de  reg'lar  price." 

And  so  it  turned  out.  Sally's  enterprise  saved  the  day 
in  so  far  that  they  did  sell  enough  to  get  back  fifty  dol- 
lars, and  they  had  much  meat  and  some  soda-water  left 
over. 

It  rained  all  day.  At  night-fall  John  sat  on  the  front 
porch,  downcast.  Liza  came  out  of  the  house.  "Whut 
you  settin'  dar  for?"  she  asked. 

"I's  plumb  discouraged,  "Liza."  said  John. 

"It's  jes'  like  I  told  you,"  said  Liza,  "you  never  kin 
do  nuthin'  right." 

"I  has  sich  hard  luck,"  complained  John. 

"Yas,  dat's  jest  it,"  answered  Liza,  "you  is  de  on- 
luckiest  nigger  dey  is.  I  ax  myse'f,  and  I  can't  answer, 
whut  I  ever  is  married  you  for  ?  You  can't  have  no  luck, 
an'  you  wouldn't  know  whut  to  do  wid  it  if  you  had 
it."  She  turned  scornfully  and  went  into  the  house. 

John  was  enveloped  in  gloom,  but  suddenly  an  idea 
occurred  to  him  that  brought  some  light.  "How  come 
Brother  Mulberry  cut  'de  years  off  dem  shotes?  Unh- 
hunh !  how  does  folks  mark  dey  hogs  ?  Dey  cuts  notches 
in  dey  years,  dat's  how  dey  marks  'em.  If  dem  wuzn't 
Brother  Mulberry's  shotes,  would  he  want  'em  to  have 
years?  He  wouldn't.  Unh-hunh,  I  see.  I  got  to  git 
over  to  de  lower  place  soon  in  de  mawnin'." 

Early  on  the  morning  of  the  nineteenth  he  was  at 


96  White  and  Black 

the  lower  place.  He  thought  it  best  to  call  first  on  Uncle 
Sam  Sparkins  and  inquire  around  a  bit. 

After  they  had  exchanged  salutations  and  commiserated 
with  each  other  over  the  failure  of  the  Nineteenth,  John 
asked,  "Well,  Brother  Sparkins,  whut's  the  news  over 
hyeer?" 

"Dey  ain't  nuthin'  much,  Brother  Ramsey,  'ceppen  Mr. 
Sim  Senter  been  raisin'  sand  all  roun'  hyeer  'bout  his 
shotes." 

"Whut's  de  matter  wid  his  shotes,  Brother  Sparkins  ?" 

"He  say  he  is  a-missin'  two  of  'em,  an'  dem  de  fattes' 
shotes  he  had." 

"Is  he  layin'  'em  to  anybody  special?" 

"Naw,  he  'jes'  noratin'  de  word  aroun'  he  gwine  to 
send  somebody  to  de  pen  if  dem  shotes  don't  show  up." 

"I  'speck  dey  jes'  got  out  in  de  woods  an'  wondered 
off,"  said  John  with  every  appearance  of  indifference, 
"but  I  got  to  be  hustlin'  on.  Take  keer  of  yo'se'f,  Brother 
Sparkins,"  and  he  was  gone. 

He  carefully  avoided  the  neighborhood  of  Sim  Senter's 
house,  and  on  arriving  near  Madison  Mulberry's,  he  called 
from  a  little  distance,  "Hello !  hello !"  He  received  an 
almost  immediate  answer  from  within,  and  then  said, 
"Come  out  hyeer,  Brother  Mulberry,  I'se  skeered  of  yo* 
dawgs.  Dey's  gwine  on  bodacious." 

Madison  came  out,  quieted  the  dogs,  and  asked,  "Whut 
you  want,  Ramsey?" 

"Come  out  hyeer,  an'  look  at  dis  horse  of  mine,  Brother 
Mulberry,  'pears  to  me  like  dey  is  somep'n  ner  de 
matter  wid  him." 

Madison  went  in,  got  his  hat,  returned,  and  reluctantly 
came  to  where  John  was  waiting. 


White  and  Black  97 

"Less  go  out  in  de  fiel'  a  little  ways,  Brother  Mulberry, 
I  wants  to  speak  to  you  'bout  somep'n  of  a  private 
nachur." 

When  they  were  removed  quite  out  of  earshot  of  the 
house,  John  said,  "Brother  Mulberry,  dem  shotes'  years 
wuz  wuth  mor'n  forty  cents." 

"Whut  you  mean,  nigger?"  asked  Madison. 

"Dey  wuz  wuth  at  de  lowes'  nine  dollars  an'  fo'  bits, 
an'  nuthin'  mo'  said  an'  no  feelin's  hurt,"  answered  John. 

"Whut  you  talkin'  bout  ?"  asked  Madison. 

"Mr.  Sim  Senter  say  he  missin'  two  of  dem  red  Jersey 
shotes  of  his'n,  but  I  done  tol'  him  dey  wuz  lots  of  bristles 
left  on  dem  shotes  you  sold  me,  an'  dey  wuz  black.  An' 
he  say  his  shotes  wuz  marked  wid  a  notch  on  bofe  years. 
An'  I  tole  him  de  shotes  you  brung  me  wuz  marked  wid 
a  tip  offen  de  left  year  and  a  slish  in  de  right,  dat's  de 
way  you  mark  yo'  shotes,  ain't  it,  Brother  Mulberry?" 

"Unh-hunh,"  said  Madison,  beginning  to  see  the  light. 

"Waal,  Brother  Mulberry,  does  you  want  dem  shotes 
to  stay  black  wid  a  tip  offen  de  left  year  an'  a  slish  in 
de  right?" 

"Whut  you  drivin'  at,  nigger  ?" 

"I'm  drivin'  at  keepin'  you  outen  de  penitentiary  at  a 
cost  to  you  of  nine  dollars  an'  f  o'  bits,  Brother  Mulberry." 

"Hunh,  I  done  spent  all  dat  money,"  said  Madison. 

"Dat's  bad,  Brother  Mulberry,  dat  sho'  is  powerful 
bad,  'cause  it  comes  to  me  mighty  strong  dat  de  bristles  on 
dem  shotes  wuz  red  an'  dey  didn't  have  no  years  at  all, 
and  it  ain't  so  fur  to  Mr.  Sim  Senter's  house  dat  I  couldn't 
make  it  dar  in  about  ten  minutes." 

Madison  scratched  his  head.  "How  you  know  I  ain't 
gwine  to  beat  de  life  outen  you,  Ramsey?"  he  asked. 


98  White  and  Black 

"I  don't  know  it,  Brother  Mulberry,  but  I  done  tol' 
all  my  folks  at  home  'bout  dis  thing,  so  de  fac's  won't 
perish  off  de  earth  if  anything  happens  to  me." 

"Waal,  I  ain't  got  but  five  dollars  lef,"  answered 
Madison. 

John  scratched  his  head.  An  inspiration  came  to  him. 
"Waal,  Brother  Mulberry,  whut  do  de  Good  Book  say? 
It  say,  'Be  merciful  to  sinners,'  so  you  kin  jes'  bring  me 
de  five  dollars  now,  an'  pay  me  de  res'  dis  fall  when  you 
sell  yo'  crop." 

Madison  was  cornered.  Not  knowing  what  else  to  do, 
he  went  and  brought  John  the  five  dollars. 

"So  long,  Brother  Mulberry,"  said  John,  in  leave-tak- 
ing, "de  way  of  de  transgressor  is  hard,  but  blessed  is  de 
peace-makers,  for  dey  shall  see  Gaad." 

He  rode  to  Compton  to  see  Mr.  Tony  Peters. 

"Mr.  Tony,"  said  he,  "if  it  is  Sunday,  I  done  brung  you 
forty  dollars." 

"What  forty  dollars?"  asked  Mr.  Tony. 

"De  forty  dollars  I  got  from  you  on  my  team." 

"Here's  your  note,  John,  and  it  says  sixty." 

"Yassuh,  but  you  know  I  didn't  git  but  de  forty,  an' 
de  Nineteenth  turned  out  somep'n  awful,  Mr.  Tony." 

"Yes  that's  so,  John,  but  I've  got  to  be  paid  for  the 
risk  I  run.  I  can't  be  lettin'  you  niggers  have  money 
for  nuthin'." 

"Waal,  you  kin  sho'  knock  off  somep'n,  can't  you,  Mr. 
Tony?" 

"I  hate  to  set  a  bad  example,"  answered  Mr.  Peters, 
"but  considerin'  the  circumstances,  I'll  knock  off  ten  per 
cent,  for  cash.  Pay  me  fifty-four  dollars,  and  we'll  call 
it  square,  John." 

"Can't  you  do  no  better'n  dat,  Mr.  Tony?" 


White  and  Black  99 

"No,  that's  the  best  I'll  do,  and  you  better  thank  your 
stars  for  that" 

Painfully  he  counted  out  the  fifty-four  dollars  and 
handed  the  sum  to  Mr.  Tony. 

On  his  way  home  John  rode  bowed  over  nearly  double. 
He  reached  in  his  pocket,  pulled  out  a  lone  silver  dollar, 
and  looked  at  it  mournfully.  "You  sho'  is  lonesome,  ain't 
you,  honey?"  he  said.  Then  he  brightened  up  as  he 
reflected,  "It  sho'  wuz  a  good  thing  dat  Brother  Mulberry 
took  dem  shotes  from  Mr.  Senter  kinder — kinder  unbe- 
knownst like."  Then  another  cloud  came  over  his  face. 
"But  whut  is  I  gwine  to  do  'bout  dat  ten  dollars  I  got  from 
Mr.  Will?  Oh,  shuckins,  I  can't  be  worried  'bout  dat. 
I  knows  I  kin  git  him  to  wait  on  dat  little  smidget  of 
money  till  de  fall.  Hunh,  dey  ain't  nobody  kin  fool  'long 
wid  dis  nigger,  I  suttinly  did  stick  it  tight  to  Brother  Mul- 
berry, haw !  haw  !  haw  !  I  got  him  whar  de  hair  is  short. 
I'm  mighty  nigh  got  him  whar  dey  ain't  no  hair  at  all. 
Haw !  haw !  haw !" 


CHAPTER  XIV 

IMMEDIATELY  after  dinner  on  Sunday  afternoon,  Bob 
said  to  his  father  and  mother,  "I  believe  I'll  ride  down  to 
the  lower  place  to  see  how  Jim  Senter  is  getting  on." 

"I  would  have  gone  down  before  now,"  said  Mr.  Rob- 
ertson, "but  Dr.  Anderson  told  me  that  he  was  improving 
right  along  and  that  he  would  likely  be  out  of  bed  in  a 
few  days  now.  Still  I  think  it  would  be  a  good  idea 
for  you  to  go,  Bob." 

"Yes,  but  wouldn't  it  be  a  better  idea  to  wait  till  later 
in  the  evening?  It  is  so  fearfully  hot  now,"  said  Mrs. 
Robertson. 

"Oh,  Mama,  won't  you  ever,  ever  get  over  thinking  I'm 
a  baby!"  exclaimed  Bob,  petulantly. 

"Mind,  son,  you  shouldn't  speak  in  that  tone  to  your 
mother,"  said  Mr.  Robertson. 

"Well,  I  don't  mean  to  hurt  anybody's  feelings,  but 
I  get  so  mortally  tired  of  it,"  and  Bob  flung  out  of  the 
house. 

"There  seems  to  me  to  be  something  the  matter  with 
Bob  here  lately,"  said  Mrs.  Robertson  with  tears  in  her 
eyes.  "What  do  you  think,  Will?" 

"It  may  be,"  answered  Mr.  Robertson,  "that  we  do 
regard  him  too  much  as  a  child.  We  shall  have  to  re- 
member, I  suppose,  that  he  is  past  eighteen,  and  is  really 
a  young  man,  though  it  is  hard  to  think  of  him  as  nearly 
grown." 

"It  has  been  such  a  short,  short  time,  Will,  since  I 
carried  him  in  my  arms." 

100 


White  and  Black  ion 

"Yes,  honey,  I  know,  but  it  seems  a  long  time  to 
Bob,  and  a  boy  must  have  some  freedom." 

"Oh,  Will,  you  don't  think  I  nag  him,  do  you?" 

"No,  no,  honey,  of  course  not,  but  suppose  we  give 
him  his  head  a  little  more  and  see  how  that  will  turn  out." 

"All  right,  I'll  try.  I'll  try  hard,  but  if  anything 
were  to  happen  to  him,  Will,  I — I  couldn't  stand  it,"  she 
said  with  a  sob. 

When  Bob  rode  up  on  Saladin  to  Sim  Senter's  house, 
he  found  a  Sabbath  calm  prevailing.  Sim  himself  was 
dozing  in  a  dilapidated  rocking-chair  on  the  front  porch, 
under  the  edge  of  which  were  groups  of  sleeping  dogs. 

"Hello,  Mr.  Senter,"  he  called  from  the  front  gate, 
"taking  a  nap?" 

"Unh-hunh,"  answered  Sim  sleepily,  then  waking  up. 
as  the  dogs  began  to  bark,  he  said,  "Well,  I  declar'  if 
it  ain't  Bob  Robertson !  Git  down,  Bob,  aa'  come  in." 

"Thought  I'd  drop  by  and  see  how  Jim  is  getting  on," 
answered  Bob,  as  he  dismounted. 

"He'll  be  real  glad  to  see  you,  Bob,  he's  that  pyeert 
now,  he  kin  set  up  an'  talk  to  folks.  Hey,  Jennie,"  he 
called  to  his  wife,  "you  and  Susie  look  out,  Bob  Rob- 
ertson's comin'  in  to  see  Jim." — "I  expect  the  women 
folks  haven't  got  on  much,"  he  said  to  Bob  in  a  lower 
voice.  "They've  been  a-nappin'  it,  an'  it  is  so  'tarnally 
hot." 

"I'll  wait  a  minute  then,"  said  Bob  as  he  heard  a 
rustling  and  a  smothered  tittering  in  the  house  and  a 
slamming  of  a  door. 

"Yes,  I  expec'  you'd  better,"  said  Sim,  "set  down  in 
that  cheer.  How's  Mr.  Will  and  how's  your  ma?" 

Bob  flushed  at  the  last  query,  remembering  his  former 


IO2  White  and  Black 

encounter  with  Harry,  but  knowing  that  Mr.  Senter  had 
no  such  idea  in  mind,  he  answered,  "They  are  well, 
thank  you.  I'm  mighty  glad  to  know  that  Jim  is  so  much 
better." 

"All  right,  he  kin  come,"  Mrs.  Senter  called  from 
within  the  house. 

Bob  and  Sim  went  into  the  room  where  Jim  lay. 
After  they  had  talked  for  some  minutes,  mainly  about 
the  Nineteenth  and  the  fizzle  of  John  Ramsey's  celebra- 
tion, at  which  both  Sim  and  Jim  rejoiced,  Bob  asked 
"Where's  Harry?" 

"Oh,  he  lit  out  soon  this  mawnin',"  said  Sim,  "he  said 
he  wuz  goin'  over  to  the  Piney  Woods  church.  They're 
havin'  preachin'  over  there  to-day,  an'  I  reckon  he's  been 
skylarkin'  aroun'  with  some  of  the  gals  sence  church  let 
out.  Most  likely  been  takin'  dinner  with  the  Biggerses. 
I  think  he's  kinder  stuck  on  Leilia  Biggers." 

"He  told  me,"  said  Jim,  "he'd  mighty  nigh  as  soon 
marry  her  as  not." 

"That's  the  way  of  it,"  said  Sim,  "you  don't  no  sooner 
git  a  boy  up  big  enough  to  he'p  you  some  'n  he  gits 
marryin'  in  his  head.  Raisin'  chillun  don't  pay  in  these 
times.  Harry  may  not  be  back  hyeer  before  midnight." 

Bob  thought  how  his  father  and  mother  would  feel 
if  he  should  go  away  early  in  the  morning  and  not  re- 
turn till  midnight  without  their  knowing  where  he  was, 
and  he  envied  Harry.  But  he  said  merely,  "Well,  I've 
got  to  be  going.  I  am  glad  you  are  getting  on  so  fine, 
Jim." 

"You  ain't  seen  nuthin'  of  two  red  Jersey  shotes  over 
your  way,  have  you?"  asked  Sim. 

"No,  I  haven't,"  answered  Bob.    "Have  you  lost  any  ?" 

"Two  of  my  best  shotes  air  missin',"  said  Sim.    "Some 


White  and  Black  103 

of  these  low-down  niggers  must  ha'  stole  'em,  an'  I've 
got  a  putty  good  idee  of  which  one  it  is." 

"I  hope  you  catch  him,"  said  Bob,  and  took  his  de- 
parture. 

As  he  glanced  back  over  his  shoulder,  he  saw  Susie 
come  out  on  the  front  porch.  She  was  dressed  in  her 
poor  Sunday  best,  or  so  it  seemed  to  him,  but  her  awk- 
ward overgrown  figure,  stooping  shoulders,  sallow  and 
pimply  complexion,  and  discolored  teeth  were  brought 
out  but  the  more  vividly  by  her  wretched  attempt  at 
finery. 

"Good-by,  Bob,"  she  said,  with  abashed  sprightliness. 

"Good-by,  Susie,"  he  half  turned,  waved  his  hand, 
hurried  to  mount,  and  rode  away.  "Goodness!  I  feel 
sorry  for  her !"  he  thought. 

He  concluded  he  would  ride  by  Uncle  Sam  Sparkins's 
house  and  have  a  chat  with  him.  There  had  been  a  mu- 
tual affection  between  them  ever  since  Bob's  babyhood. 
But  as  he  was  threading  the  narrow  path  that  led  through 
a  patch  of  timber,  he  came  face  to  face  with  Harry  Sen- 
ter,  who  was  riding  a  dun  pony.  Bob's  face  went  red, 
and  "Now  or  never"  came  into  his  mind. 

"Are  you  going  to  take  back  what  you  said  about  me 
last  week  ?"  he  asked  menacingly  as  he  brought  his  horse 
beside  Harry's. 

"I  don't  never  take  nuthin'  back,"  answered  Harry, 
flaring  up. 

"Well,  take  that!"  exclaimed  Bob,  and  struck  him 
across  the  neck  and  shoulders  with  his  quirt. 

Instantly  Harry  jerked  his  feet  from  his  stirrups  and 
threw  himself  on  Bob,  dragging  him  from  the  saddle  to 
the  ground.  "I'll  pay  you,  I'll  pay  you,  damn  you,  I'll 
pay  you  good  and  plenty,"  he  shrieked. 


IO4  White  and  Black 

On  the  ground  they  tossed  and  tumbled,  first  one  on 
top,  then  the  other.  There  were  no  rules  to  the  fight. 
They  gouged  and  scratched  and  bit  and  pummeled  as 
the  chance  came.  Bob  felt  that  at  all  hazards  he  must 
win,  for  he  was  fighting  not  only  Harry  Senter  but  all 
who  taunted  him  for  a  mollycoddle.  While  in  Harry 
surged  up  the  envy  and  hatred  of  poverty  for  superior 
wealth  and  position. 

But  victory  was  to  come  to  neither,  for  Sim  Senter  was 
following  Bob  on  foot,  intending  to  have  another  talk 
with  Uncle  Sam  about  the  shotes. 

After  a  struggle  he  succeeded  in  separating  the  com- 
batants just  as  Uncle  Sam  arrived  leading  Saladin,  who 
had  run  riderless  up  to  the  cabin. 

"Here,  Sam,"  said  Sim,  "hold  Bob,  while  I  tend  to 
Harry.  Now,  what's  the  trouble?" 

"He  hit  me  with  his  quirt,"  said  Harry,  "and  I'm  goin' 
to  kill  him."  He  strained  to  break  Sim's  hold. 

"I  reckon  he  won't  call  me  a  baby  any  more,"  said 
Bob,  "look  at  his  eye.  Turn  me  loose,  Uncle  Sam,  and 
I'll  beat  him  to  death." 

"Haw !  haw  !  haw  !"  laughed  Sim,  "is  that  what  you  two 
wuz  fightin'  about  ?  Haw  !  haw !  haw  !" 

"Shut  up !"  shouted  Bob.  "I'll  lick  you  too !  I'll  lick 
the  whole  damn  works !" 

"Haw!  haw!  haw!"  laughed  Sim.  "Hold  him,  Sam, 
till  I  git  done  laughinV  And  it  looked  as  if  he  really 
could  not  control  his  mirth.  "Me  and  Mr.  Will  had  a 
fight  about  the  same  thing  when  we  wuz  boys!  Haw! 
haw !  haw !" 

Bob  was  interested  in  spite  of  himself.  "Who  licked?" 
he  asked. 


White  and  Black  105 

"I  licked,  but  I  never  did  call  him  a  baby  no  more.  He 
bruised  me  up  somethin'  terrible." 

"Papa,  did  you  sho'  nuff  lick  Mr.  Will?"  asked  Harry, 
with  great  animation. 

"He  did  for  a  fac',"  said  Uncle  Sam,  "I  holp  wash  Mr. 
Will  up  atterwards.  Haw !  haw !  haw !  But  I  bet  you 
got  a  scar  right  now  behin'  you'  lef  year,  Mr.  Senter." 

"Yep,  there  it  is,"  said  Sim  proudly,  pulling  his  ear 
forward  and  turning  around  for  Bob  and  Harry  to  see. 

"Well,  I  declare !"  said  Bob. 

"Swar  to  goodness !"  exclaimed  Harry. 

"Come  on,  honey,  by  de  cabin,"  said  Uncle  Sam  to  Bob, 
"an'  lemme  wash  you  up  like  I  done  yo'  pappy." 

Bob  looked  at  Harry  sheepishly.  "So  long,  Harry,"  he 
said. 

"So  long,  Bob,"  Harry  replied,  "it  feels  to  me  like  it's 
goin'  to  be  my  eye  'stead  of  my  year." 

"And  I  reckon  it'll  be  my  lip,"  said  Bob,  wiping  the 
blood  from  his  mouth. 

After  Uncle  Sam  and  Aunt  Hannah  had  done  the  best 
they  could  for  Bob,  he  started  back  home,  but  in  a  bruised 
and  battered  condition.  His  lip  was  split,  one  eye  was 
almost  closed  up,  both  of  his  thumbs  were  swollen,  and 
it  hurt  him  to  sit  in  the  saddle.  Nevertheless  there  was  a 
feeling  of  joy  in  his  heart.  "Papa  and  Mr.  Senter  had  a 
fight  about  the  same  thing ;  how  funny !"  he  thought,  "and 
then  he  didn't  call  him  a  baby  any  more.  Well,  I'm  free 
of  that,  I  bet !" 

But  the  word  "free"  turned  his  mind  back  to  his  adven- 
ture with  Sally,  to  which  he  had  been  impelled  in  part  by 
a  desire  for  freedom.  And  he  was  conscious  that  he  had 
been  much  less  free  after  than  before.  The  fear  of  its 


io6  White  and  Black 

discovery  by  his  father  or  mother  at  times  chilled  him 
with  horror.  He  was  uneasy  in  the  presence  of  John 
Ramsey  and  greatly  embarrassed  by  the  new  assertiveness 
of  Sally.  And  his  conscience  hurt  him.  And  in  addition 
to  all  of  that  he  was  plagued  by  unruly  desires  more  than 
ever  before  in  his  life.  Negro  women  looked  different  to 
him. 

As  his  thought  ran  confusedly  on  such  a  course,  he 
said  half  aloud,  "I  believe  I  will  stop  by  Joe  Williams's 
house  and  get  some  of  that  liniment  for  my  thumbs. 
Maybe  I  will  look  better  if  I  don't  go  home  for  an  hour  or 
so  yet." 

And  then  distinctly  there  recurred  to  him  his  dream  of 
Ella  standing  in  the  brilliant  sunshine  and  holding  in  her 
outstretched  yellowish  palm  the  glittering  medal.  It  was 
odd  that  it  was  the  dream,  and  not  the  actual  scene  itself, 
that  was  reproduced  in  his  mind,  for  in  the  dream  Ella 
stood  bare-headed  and  her  hair  was  long  and  wavy.  While 
in  reality  Ella's  hair  was  short  and  kinky,  and  at  that  time 
she  had  worn  a  sun-bonnet.  It  came  to  him  as  a  shock 
that  the  dream  had  crowned  Ella  with  the  tresses  of 
Minnie  Deane. 

When  he  reached  the  house  of  Joe  Williams,  Joe  was 
not  at  home,  but  Malviny  came  out  on  the  porch  to  his 
call. 

"Lawd,  Mr.  Bob,  whut's  de  matter  wid  you  ?"  she  asked. 

"I  had  a  fight  with  Harry  Senter  and  I  was  wondering 
if  Joe  had  any  of  that  liniment  left  that  Papa  gave  him 
for  the  mule's  back." 

"Yas,  we's  got  plenty  of  it.  Will  you  git  down?"  but 
there  was  a  sort  of  reluctance  in  Malviny's  manner. 

"I  believe  I  will,"  said  Bob.  "I  will  come  on  the  porch 
and  let  you  put  some  of  the  liniment  on  my  thumbs." 


White  and  Black  107 

"Ella,  Ella,"  called  Malviny,  "bring  dat  liniment  Mr. 
Will  give  us  out  hyeer  to  de  po'ch." 

Soon  Ella  came  out  with  the  medicine.  "What  man  is 
that  I  hear  talking  in  there  ?"  asked  Bob. 

"Dat's  Brother  Richard  Sanders,  our  new  paschur," 
answered  Malviny,  "you  ain't  never  met  him,  is  you,  Mr. 
Bob?" 

"No,  I  never  saw  him,  I  think,"  said  Bob,  "he  has  been 
away  to  college,  hasn't  he?"  And  he  smiled,  his  cut  lip 
making  him  wince. 

"Yassuh,  he's  been  way  up  Nawth,  to  de  theology  sem- 
inary," said  Ella. 

"Oh,  he  has !"  said  Bob.    "What's  he  doing  over  here  ?" 

"He  jes'  drapped  in  to  make  us  a  paschural  call,"  an- 
swered Malviny,  and  Bob  understood  the  reluctance  that 
there  had  been  in  Malviny's  manner. 

"Hyeer,  Ella,"  said  Malviny,  "you  rub  Mr.  Bob's 
thumb,  while  I  go  and  git  a  rag." 

"How  do  you  like  your  new  pastor,  Ella?"  asked  Bob, 
grinning. 

"Oh,  I  ain't  studyin'  him,  Mr.  Bob.  It's  Lucindy  he 
likes." 

Just  then  Richard,  taking  his  leave,  came  out  on  the 
porch,  Lucindy  following  him. 

"Dis  is  Mr.  Bob  Robertson,  Mr.  Will's  boy,"  said  Ella, 
"an'  dis  is  Brother  Richard  Sanders." 

"I  am  glad  to  meet  you,  Mr.  Robertson,"  said  Richard, 
"I've  heard  what  a  fine  young  man  you  are." 

Bob  blushed  and  hardly  knew  what  to  say.  It  seemed 
to  him  that  he  was  being  patronized  by  a  Negro,  and  he 
didn't  look  his  best  anyway,  with  his  eye  and  lip  in  that 
condition  and  under  treatment  for  his  bruises  gotten  in 


io8  White  and  Black 

a  fight  on  Sunday  afternoon.  But  after  some  hesitation 
he  did  say,  "I  understand  you've  been  off  to  college." 

"Yes,  sir,  I  have  had  that  privilege,  and  I  am  come 
back  to  try  to  show  my  people  the  right  path,"  answered 
Richard*with  politeness  and  some  unction. 

Lucindy  giggled. 

"Where  are  you  going  to  work  ?"  asked  Bob. 

"I  am  the  pastor  of  Shady  Grove  Baptist  Church." 

"Oh,  you  are  not  going  to  do  anything  but  preach 
then?" 

"No,  sir,  I  expect  all  of  my  time  to  be  occupied  as  the 
spiritual  guide  of  my  people." 

"The  hell  you  say !"  exclaimed  Bob. 

Without  answering,  Richard  left.  Bob  grinned.  "The 
spiritual  guide  of  his  people !"  he  thought.  "Ouch  !  Ella," 
he  said  aloud,  "you  twisted  that  thumb." 

"I's  sorry,  Mr.  Bob,  it  mus'  be  powerful  so'." 

Lucindy  went  back  into  the  house  with  a  cloudy  face. 

"It  is  mighty  sore,"  said  Bob. 

"I  would  ax  you  who  licked,"  said  Ella,  "but  I 
know  you  can  whup  dat  Harry  Senter  wid  one  hand  tied 
behin'  yo'  back." 

"Well,  Mr.  Sim  stopped  the  fight  before  we  finished," 
said  Bob. 

"And  a  good  thing  for  Harry,  I  bet,  too,  or  he  wouldn't 
ha'  stopped  it." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know  about  that,"  answered  Bob  with 
the  air  of  a  conqueror. 

Malviny  came  out  with  the  rags  and  tied  up  Bob's 
thumbs.  He  mounted  Saladin  again  and  rode  on  towards 
home.  As  he  went  along  his  mind  was  busy.  "Just 
think,  that  Richard  Sanders  has  already  been  off  to  col- 
lege. He  talks  like  a  white  man.  I  bet  he  knows  more 


White  and  Black  109 

about  books  than  I  do.  And  he  has  been  to  places.  Just 
think  of  that !  But  after  all,  wherever  he  went  he  wasn't 
anything  but  a  nigger.  He  could  go  to  forty  colleges,  but 
when  he  came  back  he  would  still  be  a  nigger.  Well,  I 
better  fool  around  the  lot  a  while  before  I  go  to  the 
house.  It  does  take  this  swelling  a  long  time  to  go  down. 
Oh,  Lord,  I  know  I'll  just  scare  Mama  to  death!  And 
what  is  Papa  going  to  say?" 

He  came  to  the  spring  branch.  "Oh,"  he  said,  "I  believe 
I'll  go  and  sit  down  by  the  spring  a  while." 

He  turned  his  horse  and  rode  up  along  the  side  of  the 
branch.  The  spring  itself  was  walled  around  with  a 
board  curbing,  over  the  edge  of  which  there  ran  a  clear 
stream  of  water  that  sparkled  as  the  rays  of  the  sun 
fell  on  it  here  and  there  through  the  lofty  pine  trees 
by  which  it  was  surrounded.  A  little  to  one  side  was 
a  rustic  bench  made  of  pine  poles  that  had  been  built  by 
Joe  Williams  as  a  place  to  rest  and  cool  off  when  he  would 
come  from  his  work  in  the  field  to  fill  his  jug  of  water. 
The  bench  was  screened  from  observation  by  the  high 
banks  around  it,  and  on  it  Bob  stretched  himself  at  full 
length  with  many  a  squirm,  as  various  bruises  on  his  body 
pressed  upon  its  hard  surface. 

He  fell  to  thinking  about  the  fight,  how  he  might  have 
done  this  or  that  and  knocked  Harry  completely  out  at 
once,  but  more  insistent  still  was  his  worry  as  to  how 
he  should  tell  his  father  and  mitigate  the  shock  his  mother 
would  suffer.  But  he  failed  to  realize  how  thoroughly 
exhausted  he  was,  until  all  at  once  a  feeling  of  extreme 
weariness  came  over  him.  "Gee !  but  I  am  tired !"  he 
said,  yawned,  stretched,  pillowed  his  head  on  his  arm, 
and  fell  asleep.  His  hat  dropped  to  the  ground. 


no  White  and  Black 

Ella  came  down  to  the  spring  for  a  bucket  of  water. 
She  was  humming  a  hymn: 

"'Why  do  you  wait,  dear  brother? 
'Oh,  why  do  you  tarry  so  long?'" 

She  saw  Bob  stretched  out  on  the  bench  and  realized 
that  he  was  asleep.  Her  song  was  hushed.  As  quietly 
as  possible  she  sank  the  bucket  into  the  spring,  lifted  it 
out  dripping,  and  turned  to  go  back  home,  but  diverged 
from  the  straight  path  enough  to  lay  her  hand  gently  for 
a  moment  on  Bob's  blond  hair.  He  stirred  in  his  sleep, 
and  she  stole  away. 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE  next  morning  Mr.  Robertson  went  to  town  for  the 
mail  and  returned  early,  as  he  was  anxious  to  see  how 
Bob  would  look.  When  he  came  back,  the  first  question 
he  asked  was,  "Mamie,  how  is  Bob  this  morning?" 
"Sh !"  said  Mrs.  Robertson,  "he  hasn't  waked  up  yet." 
Bob  had  come  in  on  the  evening  before  at  dusk,  had  had 
the  good  fortune  to  meet  his  father  first,  and  had  ex- 
plained the  fight  to  him.  After  his  first  alarm  was  over 
and  Bob  had  assured  him  that  there  was  no  serious  dam- 
age, Mr.  Robertson  was  amused  almost  as  much  as  had 
been  Sim  Senter.  The  adventures  of  his  own  youth 
were  pleasantly  recalled  to  him  in  the  adventure  of  his 
boy.  He  gave  so  humorous  an  account  of  his  own  fight 
to  Mrs.  Robertson  and  made  so  light  of  Bob's  bruises 
that  she  was  less  disturbed  than  Bob  had  ever  hoped  for. 
She  even  realized  some  of  the  trials  that  Bob  had  to 
suffer  on  account  of  his  reputation  as  "a  mama's  boy," 
and  she  thought  to  herself,  "Will  is  right.  We  must 
somehow  let  him  have  more  freedom.  Maybe  I'm  fool- 
ish about  him.  But  I  do  love  him  so !" 

Mr.  Robertson  began  to  open  the  mail.  "Ah,"  he  said, 
"here  is  another  letter  from  Green  &  Porter,  Cotton 
Factors,  Mamie — let  me  see.  Yes,  it  is  the  same  old 
thing.  They  write  me  again  to  come  to  the  City  as  their 
cotton  buyer  and  grader.  And  they  offer  a  salary  of  four 
thousand  a  year  to  begin  with — and  more,  if  I  sell  out 
here  and  put  the  proceeds  into  the  business.  I  am  almost 

in 


112  White  and  Black 

tempted.  What  do  you  think,  Mamie  ?  That's  more  than 
we  have  any  assurance  of  making  here." 

"No,  I  don't  know,  Will,  we've  always  lived  here,  and 
our  people  have  lived  here  before  us,  and  I  love  the  place, 
and  then  about  Bob.  I  don't  think  we  ought  to  expose 
him  to  the  temptations  of  a  city." 

"Ha!  ha!"  laughed  Mr.  Robertson,  "like  a  woman  to 
put  her  real  thought  in  the  postscript.  Don't  you  think 
Bob  is  ever  going  to  grow  up?" 

"Oh,  Will,"  she  answered,  "not  just  yet.  Let's  don't 
risk  it  just  yet  a  while." 

"All  right,  honey,  just  as  you  say.  But  I  don't  think 
the  temptations  in  the  City  are  much  worse  than  here. 
There  are  temptations  everywhere  if  a  man  is  disposed 
to  get  into  trouble." 

"Oh,  Will,  how  can  you  say  it?  Think  of  the  gambling 
and  the  drink  and  the  women !  We  have  real  prohibition 
here,  and  I  have  heard  you  say  myself  that  you  don't 
know  of  a  single  loose  woman  in  this  community." 

"I  said  white  woman,"  answered  Mr.  Robertson. 

"But,  Will,  Will,  you  don't  think  for  a  minute,  you 
couldn't  think — surely  you  have  warned  him  about  that !" 

Bob  came  down  for  breakfast. 

"Well,  how's  the  warrior  ?"  asked  Mr.  Robertson,  grin- 
ning. 

"Will,  you  are  poking  fun  at  him,"  said  Mrs.  Robert- 
son, reproachfully. 

"Oh,  I'm  all  right  and  fit  as  a  fiddle,"  answered  Bob, 
feeling  his  eye,  which  was  not  so  swollen,  but  greatly 
discolored.  "But  this  eye  looks  funny,  don't  it?" 

Mrs.  Robertson  restrained  an  impulse  to  kiss  the  in- 
jured member,  and  said,  "I've  got  the  nicest  breakfast 


White  and  Black  113 

for  you."  She  stepped  to  the  back  door  of  the  hall  and 
called,  "Cindy,  Cindy,  bring  in  Mr.  Bob's  breakfast." 

"How  are  the  thumbs?"  asked  Mr.  Robertson. 

"Nearly  as  good  as  new,"  said  Bob,  "but  a  little  rusty 
in  the  joints." 

"I  remember  now  it  was  the  big  toe  on  my  right  foot," 
said  Mr.  Robertson.  "I  had  to  limp  around  for  nearly 
a  week.  Ha  !  ha !  ha !  that  was  some  fight.  And  how  I 
did  hate  Sim  before  it  came  off!  But  afterwards  Sim 
and  I  couldn't  do  enough  for  each  other,  and  we've  stuck 
together  to  this  good  day.  Ah,  lawzy  me !" 

Cindy  came  bringing  in  the  breakfast.  Mrs.  Robert- 
son could  not  resist  putting  an  arm  around  Bob  and 
walking  with  him  into  the  dining-room. 

"Good  mawnin',  Mr.  Bob,"  said  Cindy.  "I  hyeared 
you  been  whuppin'  de  life  out  of  dat  ar  Harry  Senter." 

"No,  Cindy,  not  as  bad  as  that.  It  was  a  sort  of  draw 
between  us." 

"I  boun'  it  wuz  a  draw,"  said  Cindy,  "I  boun'  you 
drawed  de  blood  out  of  him." 

"Run  along,  Cindy,  and  start  on  the  batter-cakes," 
said  Mrs.  Robertson. 

"I'm  a-gwine,  Miss  Mamie,  but  dat  ar  Harry  Senter 
ought  to  be  ashamed  of  hisse'f  a-bustin'  Mr.  Bob  in  de 
eye  dat  a-way." 

Bob  blushed,  then  said,  "But  you  just  ought  to  see 
his  eye,  Cindy." 

"You  give  it  to  him,  didn't  you,  Mr.  Bob.  Haw !  haw ! 
haw !  I  knows  you  give  it  to  him  hot  and  heavy." 

But  Bob  began  eating,  so  Cindy  went  out  to  cook  his 
batter-cakes. 

"They  all  love  you,  don't  they,  Bob  ?"  said  Mrs.  Rob- 
ertson. 


114  White  and  Black 

"I  don't  know  whether  they  love  me  so  much  or  hate 
Harry,"  he  answered,  smiling,  "but,  gee !  this  lip  of  mine 
hasn't  grown  together  good  yet." 

"Poor  sweet  lip !"  said  Mrs.  Robertson,  and  Bob  blushed 
again,  but  embarrassment  was  not  unmixed  with  anger 
in  his  eyes. 

"Papa  got  another  letter  this  morning  from  Green  & 
Porter,  urging  him  to  accept  the  position  of  head  buyer 
and  classer  for  them  in  the  City,"  said  Mrs.  Robertson. 
"How  would  you  like  for  us  to  sell  out  and  move  there, 
Bob?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,  Mama.  What  I  wouldn't  like  about 
it  is  that  Papa  would  be  working  for  somebody  else.  I 
don't  like  to  think  of  anybody  bossing  Papa." 

"But  we  would  have  more  money,  and  if  we  could 
sell  out  here,  Papa  could  buy  a  share  in  the  business  and 
be  a  member  of  the  firm." 

"That  might  be  better,  but  still  he  would  have  to  do 
what  the  others  say.  And  then,  Mama,  would  you  like 
the  idea  of  giving  up  this  place  ?  It  has  come  down  to  us, 
you  know." 

"Oh,  honey,  the  City  has  no  attraction  for  you,  then  ?" 

"So,  Mama,  you  were  just  trying  to  find  that  out,  were 
you?" 

Mrs.  Robertson  blushed.  "Well,  honey,  you  know  I 
don't  want  to  do  anything  except  what  is  for  your  good." 

"But  if  you  could  just  leave  me  alone  a  little!"  Bob 
exclaimed  petulantly. 

Tears  stood  in  Mrs.  Robertson's  eyes.  Cindy  brought 
in  the  batter-cakes  and  went  out  again  as  she  wanted  to 
have  words  with  Cyrus  before  he  could  escape  to  the 
field  from  which  he  had  come  for  a  drink  of  water. 

Bob  said,  "Oh,  well,  it  don't  make  any  difference  to 


White  and  Black  115 

me.  We'll  go  to  the  City  or  we'll  stay  here,  just  as  you 
say."  And  he  devoured  the  batter-cakes  as  rapidly  as 
possible. 

"Oh,  Bob,  Bob !"  Mrs.  Robertson  exclaimed,  reproach- 
fully, as  a  tear  ran  down  her  cheek. 

"Well,  Mama,  I  don't  want  to  hurt  your  feelings — I  am 
always  hurting  your  feelings — but  what  more  can  I  say?" 

"Honey,  excuse  me,  I  didn't  mean — " 

There  was  an  uproar  in  the  back-yard.  Cindy's  voice 
was  crying,  "And  I  says  you  did.  And  it's  got  to  stop, 
nigger,  it's  got  to  stop !" 

From  Cyrus  came,  "Dey  ain't  no  woman  kin  talk  to  me 
like  dat.  I'll  bus'  yo'  head  open  wid — " 

Mr.  Robertson  came  running  by  the  dining-room  door, 
calling,  "Stop  that,  Cindy !  Stop  that,  Cyrus !" 

Bob  and  his  mother  rushed  to  the  back  porch.  Mr. 
Robertson  was  in  the  yard  and  was  holding  Cyrus  by  the 
collar  of  his  shirt.  "What  on  earth  do  you  mean,  raising 
such  a  row?"  he  cried  angrily. 

"Make  Cindy  lem'me  'lone,  Mr.  Will,"  said  Cyrus,  sul- 
lenly. 

"What  are  you  doing  to  him,  Cindy?" 

"I  ain't  doin'  nuthin',  Mr.  Will.  But  he's  got  to  leave 
Rosy  alone." 

"I  ain't  said  fo'  words  to  Rosy,"  declared  Cyrus. 

"You  give  her  my  bangle,  dat's  whut  you  done." 

"I  never !" 

"You  did!" 

"Waal,  whut's  a  little  old  bangle—" 

"Cyrus,  I  am  not  going  to  have  anything  of  that  sort 
on  this  place,"  said  Mr.  Robertson  sternly,  "go  this 
minute  and  get  that  bangle  and  bring  it  back  to  Cindy." 

"Yassuh,  Mr.  Will,  but  how's  I  gwine  to — " 


n6  White  and  Black 

"I  don't  know  how  you're  'gwine  to,'  you  can  steal  it 
from  her,  for  all  I  care."  Then  as  if  a  comic  side  of  the 
thing  struck  him,  he  smiled,  broke  into  a  laugh,  and  said, 
"Trot  now,  Cyrus." 

Cyrus  started  to  go,  looked  sheepishly  at  Mr.  Will, 
then  a  gleam  came  into  his  eye,  the  corners  of  his  mouth 
twitched,  and  he  could  not  restrain  a  guffaw,  "Haw !  haw  ! 
haw!" 

When  he  was  out  of  hearing,  Mr.  Robertson  said, 
"Cindy,  Cyrus  is  a  good-natured  nigger  and  you'd  better 
marry  him  as  soon  as  possible." 

"Hunh !  Mr.  Will,  I  never  is  gwine  to  marry  dat  nigger 
till  he  axes  my  pahdon,"  said  Cindy,  going  back  toward 
the  kitchen. 

"Oh,  all  right,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  laughing  more 
heartily  still,  "I  will  make  him  give  back  your  bangle  and 
'ax  your  pahdon,'  too." 

"Waal,  suh,  den  dey  may  be  somep'n  doin',"  answered 
Cindy  with  a  toss  of  her  head. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THURSDAY  morning  of  the  same  week  Mr.  Robertson 
was  sitting  on  the  front  porch  reading  the  paper.  There 
came  walking  to  the  house  and  on  straight  up  into  the 
porch  a  Negro  of  twenty-one  or  twenty-two,  flashily 
dressed  in  bright  yellow  shoes,  blue  peg-topped  trousers, 
striped  shirt,  flowing  red  tie,  dazzling  white  collar,  and 
stiff  straw  hat  surrounded  by  a  gaudy  band  of  red,  blue 
and  yellow. 

"Dey's  got  de  ole  man,  an'  he  say  come  down  dar  an' 
git  him  out,"  he  announced  to  Mr.  Robertson. 

"Pull  off  that  hat,"  thundered  Mr.  Robertson  at  him. 

The  Negro  jerked  off  his  hat  saucily. 

"Don't  you  ever  come  into  my  house  until  I  tell  you, 
and  then  don't  you  come  without  pulling  off  your  hat. 
You  must  be  Madison  Mulberry's  boy." 

"Yassuh,  I'm  Ulysses." 

"You've  been  away  for  two  or  three  years  ?" 

"Yassuh,  I  been  in  de  City,"  he  answered  with  an  air 
of  importance. 

"What  have  you  been  doing  in  the  City  ?" 

"I  been  workin',  mostly  in  de  railroad  shops,  an'  I 
been  gittin'  my  fo'  dollars  a  day." 

"I  didn't  ask  you  what  you've  been  getting !  What  are 
you  doing  back  here?" 

"I  los'  my  job.  I  wuzn't  gwine  to  take  nuthin'  off 
dat  fo'man — " 

"Never  mind  about  that.  What  did  you  come  here 
to  tell  me?" 


Il8  White  and  Black 

"Dey  got  de  ole  man  in  jail  down  here  at  Compton." 

"Who?     Madison?" 

"Yassuh." 

"What  for?" 

"Dey  say  he  took  some  shotes  b'longin'  to  Sim  Sen- 
ter.M 

"You  mean  Mr.  Senter." 

"Dey  say  he  took  'em/'  repeated  Ulysses,  defiantly. 

At  that  moment  Bob  came  out  on  the  porch.  "Hello, 
Bob!"  said  Ulysses. 

Bob  flushed,  but  before  he  could  say  anything,  Mr. 
Robertson  commanded,  "Address  my  son  as  Mr.  Bob." 

"Mis-ter  Bob!"  said  Ulysses  sneeringly. 

Mr.  Robertson  had  arisen  and  was  standing  near 
Ulysses.  .  Quickly  he  seized  the  son  of  Madison  by  the 
shoulders,  turned  him  around  to  face  the  front,  and  kicked 
him  tumbling  down  the  steps.  "Get  up  from  there  and 
get  out  of  this  yard,  you  infernal  scoundrel,  and  don't 
you  ever  set  foot  in  it  again."  He  stood  glaring. 

Ulysses  picked  himself  up  and  limped  out  of  the  gate. 
Mr.  Robertson  and  Bob  watched  him  till  he  came  to  the 
road  and  turned  toward  John  Ramsey's  house. 

"The  impudent  rascal,  he'll  cause  trouble  here  yet.  I 
ought  to  run  him  clear  away." 

"He  ought  to  be  beat  till  he  couldn't  stand  up,"  said 
Bob. 

"He  will  go  over  to  John's  now  with  a  great  tale,  I 
reckon,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  and  then  his  anger  subsid- 
ing, he  added,  "and  I  imagine  those  clothes  will  cause  quite 
a  flutter  in  John's  dove-cot,  eh,  Bob.  Sally  could  hardly 
stand  out  against  them,  eh?" 

For  days  thereafter  Mr.  Robertson  wondered  why  Bob 


White  and  Black  119 

blushed  so  intensely  as  he  answered,  "That  nigger  ought 
to  be  run  out  of  this  country,  Papa.  He  is  going  to  give 
us  trouble." 

"Yes,  I  expect  he  will,"  answered  Mr.  Robertson,  "but 
tell  Cyrus  to  saddle  up  our  horses.  They've  got  Madison 
in  jail  down  there  for  stealing  some  hogs  from  Sim 
Senter.  We  had  better  go  down  and  get  him  out,  but 
I  don't  see  why  Sim  didn't  say  something  to  me  about  it 
before  he  had  him  arrested.  I  don't  like  to  have  my  nig- 
gers arrested  and  slapped  in  jail  this  way  " 

When  they  reached  Compton  they  found  Sim  Senter 
outside  of  the  office  of  the  justice  of  the  peace  at  the 
court  house.  "Sim,  why  didn't  you  say  something  to  me 
about  Madison  before  you  had  him  arrested?"  asked 
Mr.  Robertson. 

"I  would  have,  Mr.  Will,  but  that  nigger  sassed  me 
somethin'  awful,  an'  I  come  mighty  nigh  to  killin'  that 
Lys  of  his." 

"How  did  it  happen?" 

"Well,  Madison  stold  my  two  red  Jersey  shotes  an' 
sold  'em  to  John  Ramsey  for  the  Nineteenth.  I  got  the 
goods  on  him  so  he  couldn't  twist  out  of  it.  An'  yestiddy 
evenin'  I  went  over  an'  taxed  him  with  it,  and  told  him 
he  had  to  pay  me  for  them  shotes  or  go  to  jail.  He  denied 
it,  an'  lit  out  to  cussin'.  An'  that  Lys  come  out  and  put 
in,  an'  said  he  wuzn't  goin'  to  stand  for  no  low  down 
white  trash  accusin'  his  daddy  of  stealin',  an'  he  cussed 
around,  too.  I  didn't  have  no  gun  with  me,  an'  I  knowed 
they  had,  so  I  had  to  take  what  they  said.  I  wuz  so  mad 
I  didn't  have  right  good  sense,  so  the  fust  thing  I  thought 
of  wuz  to  come  up  hyeer  an'  git  the  constable.  So  he 
went  back  with  me  an'  we  brought  Madison  up  hyeer  late 


I2O  White  and  Black 

yestiddy  evenin'  an'  put  him  in  jail.  An'  I  reckon  it's  a 
good  thing  after  all,  'cause  if  I  had  ha'  gone  home  an' 
told  Harry  about  it,  the  upshot  of  it  would  ha'  been  that 
me  an'  Harry  would  ha'  got  our  guns  an'  gone  over 
there  an'  shot  hell  out  of  Madison  and  Lys  both." 

"Well,  I  reckon  it  is  better  so,"  said  Mr.  Robertson. 
"Madison  is  still  in  jail,  then?" 

"Yes,  he's  over  there,"  answered  Sim. 

"You  wouldn't  mind  my  bailin'  him  out,  would  you, 
Sim  ?  You  see  his  crop  -has  got  to  be  worked  some  yet  ?" 

"Naw,  I  wouldn't  mind  that  so  much,  but  you'd  better 
tell  him,  Mr.  Will,  to  stay  over  on  his  side  of  the  place 
and  not  come  nigh  me  or  mine." 

"I'll  see  to  that,"  said  Mr.  Robertson.  "Is  Squire 
Meekin  inside  there?" 

"Yes,  he  wuz  jus'  waitin'  for  you  to  come." 

"All  right,  then  we'll  go  in." 

They  went  inside.  "Good  morning,  Squire,"  said  Mr. 
Robertson. 

"Good  mawnin',  Will.  And  that's  Bob,  ain't  it? 
How're  you,  Bob  ?  We've  got  one*  of  your  niggers, 
Will'." 

"Yes,  so  I  understand.  I  reckon  there's  no  use  in 
having  an  examining  trial,  Squire.  He  probably  took  the 
hogs,  and  I'll  go  his  bail." 

"Of  course  that'll  be  all  right,  Will,"  said  Squire  Meek- 
in, and  added,  speaking  to  the  constable,  "Jim,  run  over 
and  git  Madison  while  I  make  out  the  bail  bond.  Two 
hundred  dollars  will  be  enough,  I  reckon.  Is  that  all 
right,  Will?" 

"Yes,  that's  little  enough,  Squire,"  said  Mr.  Robert- 
son, as  the  constable  left  to  bring  in  the  prisoner.  And 
then  he  said  to  Sim,  "Sim,  would  you  mind  stepping  out- 


White  and  Black  I2l! 

side  a  while.  I'd  like  to  talk  to  Madison  when  they  bring 
him  in." 

"You  be  sure  to  lay  down  the  law  to  him,  Mr.  Will,  for 
him  to  keep  clear  of  me  and  mine,"  answered  Sim,  as  he 
went  out. 

After  a  few  minutes  Madison  was  brought  in.  He  and 
Mr.  Robertson  signed  the  bond. 

"Now,  look  here,  Madison,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  "you 
understand  that  I  am  getting  you  out  of  jail." 

"Yassuh." 

"I  might  let  you  stay  there.  And  if  I  did,  nobody  else 
would  bother  about  you.  You  understand  that?" 

"Yassuh." 

"You  are  to  appear  here  at  the  term  of  court  that  con- 
venes on  the  first  Monday  in  October,  to  be  tried." 

"Yassuh." 

"In  the  mean  time  you  are  to  stay  on  your  own  side  of 
the  place  and  you  are  to  keep  yourself  and  your  folks 
away  from  Mr.  Senter  and  his  folks.  If  you  are  about 
to  meet  any  of  them  in  the  road  or  anywhere,  you  turn 
clear  out  and  give  them  the  right  of  way,  so  that  you 
won't  meet  'em." 

"Yassuh." 

"As  soon  as  you  get  home,  you  put  Ulysses  to  work 
in  the  field  or  drive  him  off  the  place.  I  won't  have  him 
swelling  around  here.  You  understand  that." 

"Yassuh." 

"If  you  don't  do  just  as  I  say,  I  will  turn  you  back 
to  Squire  Meekin  to  put  you  in  jail  again.  Get  that  in 
your  head  and  hold  it  there." 

"Yassuh." 

"What  are  you  so  sullen  about  ?" 

"I  ain't  sullen." 


122  White  and  Black 

"You  are,  don't  lie  to  me.  You've  got  some  devilment 
in  your  head  right  now,  and  I'm  a  mind  to  slap  you  back 
in  jail  for  a  week  or  so." 

"Naw,  suh,  I  ain't  studdin'  no  devilment.  I'm  gwine 
to  work  my  crop." 

"Well,  see  that  you  do.  I'll  be  over  there  to-morrow, 
and  want  to  see  you  and  Ulysses  both  hard  at  it." 

"Yassuh.    Is  you  white  folks  done  wid  me?" 

"Yes,  go  on  home,"  said  Mr.  Robertson. 

After  he  had  left,  Squire  Meekin  said,  "Watch  out, 
Will,  you're  goin'  to  have  trouble  with  that  nigger." 

"Yes,  I  wish  I  had  gotten  rid  of  him  long  ago,"  an- 
swered Mr.  Robertson.  "He  probably  stole  the  hogs  all 
right,  and  they  will  send  him  to  the  pen  this  fall,  and 
then  I'll  have  his  old  woman  and  kids  on  my  hands  to 
take  care  of." 

"I  believe  her  and  the  chillun  would  make  a  better 
crop  without  him,"  said  the  squire,  "if  you  could  git  shut 
of  that  Ulysses." 

"I'm  going  to  run  him  out  of  the  country,"  answered 
Mr.  Robertson.  Then  he  added,  speaking  to  Bob,  "Son, 
I  wish  you'd  skip  over  to  the  post-office  and  get  the  mail, 
I  want  to  go  and  see  Mr.  Hiram  Shorter  about  Madison's 
account." 

On  his  way  to  the  post-office,  Bob  met  Minnie  Deane. 

She  said,  "Hello,  Bob,"  her  brown  eyes  dancing  with 
pleasure  at  the  meeting,  "where  have  you  been  all  this 
time,  and  what  have  you  been  doing?" 

"Hello,  Minnie,"  answered  Bob  with  some  embarrass- 
ment. "I  haven't  been  doing  anything  much." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  have,  I  bet  you've  been  up  to  some  mis- 
chief," and  she  laughed  merrily. 


White  and  Black  123 

Bob  blushed,  and  his  glance  dropped  as  the  vivid  recol- 
lection of  the  mischief  flashed  into  his  mind,  and  with  it 
there  came  a  keen  consciousness  of  Minnie's  sex.  Hith- 
erto his  feeling  about  her  had  been  vague,  a  nebulous 
haze  of  sentiment.  He  thought  her  very  pretty,  very 
sweet,  very  attractive,  and  as  somehow  enshrined  in  his 
holy  of  holies.  It  had  been  his  custom  to  think  of  her 
as  becoming  his  wife  after  a  number  of  years,  but  even 
then  his  imagination  had  pictured  her  as  a  sort  of  saintly 
virgin  wearing  an  aureole  of  purity,  and  as  walking  by 
his  side  guiding  him  on  his  way  to  things  high  and  noble. 
Actually  and  consciously  to  connect  the  physiological 
fact  of  sex  with  her  had  not  occurred  to  him.  But  now 
an  indelicate  picture  of  reality  marred  that  vision.  An 
evil  light  shone  upon  the  haze,  dissolving  it,  and  she 
stood  there  a  female. 

"Oh,  I  haven't  been  doing  anything,"  he  said  clumsily. 

Minnie  laughed.  "As  if  you  ever  could  get  into  any 
real  mischief !  But  I  hear  you  have  got  to  be  a  slugger, 
a  regular  Jim  Corbett,  or  is  it  Mr.  Fitzsimmons  I  am 
talking  to?" 

"Not  much  of  either,  I  reckon,"  said  Bob  aloud  with 
a  self-conscious  grin,  but  it  was  as  if  he  were  whispering 
to  himself,  "They  are  all  alike,  all  alike,"  and  a  feeling 
of  dismay  and  shame  mixed  with  a  leering  exultation 
came  over  him. 

"There  is  something  the  matter  with  you,  Bob!"  ex- 
claimed Minnie,  "  I  believe  the  truth  is  you  were  licked !" 
She  laughed  teasingly,  then  instantly  her  countenance 
changed.  "Oh,  Bob,  you  were  not  really  hurt,  were  you  ?" 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Bob,  pulling  himself  out  of  his  abstrac- 
tion, "it  didn't  amount  to  anything.  They  separated  us." 


124  White  and  Black 

"Tell  me  about  it,  Bob." 

"Oh,  it  wasn't  anything.  I  got  my  lip  split,  so  I  couldn't 
laugh  much  for  a  day  or  two,  and  my  eye  bunged  up,  but 
they  are  well  now." 

"I  wonder  if  laughing  was  all  that  lip  interfered  with," 
said  Minnie  archly. 

"Well,  I  couldn't  eat  so  good,"  answered  Bob. 

"Ha !  ha !  ha !"  laughed  Minnie,  "did  you  fall  off  much 
during  that  time  ?" 

"Oh,  shucks !"  said  Bob,  "let's  go  by  the  drug-store  and 
get  some  soda-water." 

They  walked  down  the  street  together,  Minnie  chat- 
tering gaily  and  feeling  proud  to  exhibit  Bob,  as  it  were, 
in  a  certain  thralldrom  before  the  eyes  of  the  towns- 
people. But  Bob  was  thinking,  "If  she  knew  everything' 
and  everybody  else  knew  it,  I  wonder  if  she  would  walk 
-along  here  with  me.  And  if  she  knew  it  and  nobody 
else  did,  I  wonder  what  she  would  do.  Oh,  it  is  shameful 
for  me  even  to  think  of  her  knowing  it!  Oh,  she  never 
had  a  thought  about  such  a  thing  in  her  life — and  yet, 
and  yet — oh,  I  wish  I  never  had  done  it." 

For  a  moment  he  felt  downcast,  quite  humiliated,  then 
there  stole  into  him  again  that  curious  exultation  that  he 
knew  was  evil,  but  that  he  could  not  find  it  in  his  heart 
utterly  to  repress. 

In  the  meantime  Ulysses  had  brushed  himself  off  with 
a  large  purple-bordered  handkerchief,  had  smoothed  his 
rumpled  attire,  recovered  his  jaunty  air  of  self-assurance, 
and  arrived  at  John  Ramsey's  house. 

The  first  person  he  saw  was  Sally.  She  was  standing 
on  the  front  porch.  "Hello,  Sally,"  he  said,  "whar's  yo' 
paw?" 


White  and  Black  125 

"He's  down  in  de  fiel',"  she  answered.  Then  looking 
at  him  more  closely,  she  exclaimed,  "Waal,  if  dat  ain't 
Lys !  Lawd  sakes !  Lys,  whar  did  you  come  from  ?" 

"I  come  from  de  City.  I  wouldn't  stay  in  no  little 
ole  hole  like  dis  hyeer  Compton." 

"How  you  is  dressed  up !" 

"Hunh,  I  been  whar  dey  is  money,  loose  money,  plenty 
of  it." 

"Is  you  got  much  of  it  wid  you?"  asked  Sally,  laugh- 
ing shrilly. 

"I  got  jes'  enough  not  to  be  givin'  none  of  it  away," 
he  answered  mockingly.  Then  another  idea  seemed  to 
strike  him,  his  expression  changed,  and  he  said,  "Sally, 
you's  a  good-lookin'  chicken.  If  you'll  go  back  to 
de  City  wid  me  when  I  goes,  I'll  show  you  whar  de 
money  is." 

"Hunh,  nigger,  you  don't  ketch  me  runnin'  roun'  de 
country  wid  no  triflin'  trash  like  you." 

Rosy  came  out  on  the  porch.    "Hello,  Lys,"  she  said. 

"Hello,  yo'se'f ,  Rosy,"  answered  Lys,  "how's  you  gittin' 
on?" 

"You  needn't  to  be  talkin'  to  Sally  'bout  goin'  anywhar 
wid  you,"  said  Rosy.  "She's  a-flyin'  at  high  game  dese 
times,  de  highest  game  dey  is,"  and  she  laughed  malic- 
iously. 

"Hunh,  dey  ain't  no  high  game  roun'  hyeer,"  sneered 
Ulysses. 

"Dey's  a  lots  higher  dan  whut  you  is,"  answered  Sally. 

"How  high  you  think  Mr.  Bob  is  ?"  asked  Rosy. 

"Mister  Bob?  Shucks!  I  calls  him  Bob.  He  ain't 
knee  high  to  a  duck.  Dat's  how  high  he  is.  I  bet  his 
daddy  don't  give  him  a  dollar  a  week." 

Sally  was  somewhat  taken  aback,  but  she  managed  to 


126  White  and  Black 

answer,  "Waal,  nemmine,  I  knows  whut  I  knows.  But 
•whut  did  you  come  hyeer  for?" 

"Oh,  dey  got  my  ole  man  in  jail  down  yonder  for  takin' 
some  shotes  from  Sim  Senter,  and  he  say  for  me  to  tell 
yo'  paw  he  better  swear  right  when  de  time  come." 

"Dey  got  him,  is  dey,"  said  Sally,  "an'  I  boun'  it  ain't 
gwine  to  be  long  bef o'  dey  got  you,  too." 

"Dey  ain't  never  gwine  to  git  me,"  answered  Ulysses, 
"but  you  better  tell  yo'  paw  to  look  out,  my  ole  man'll 
git  him  if  he  don't  swear  right.  An'  he  ain't  all  we  gwine 
to  git,  neither." 

"You  talkin'  mighty  big,"  said  Sally. 

"Big  or  little,  you  jes'  look  out,"  he  said,  turning  to 
go.  "Hunh !  Mister  Bob !  Dey  thinks  dey  kin  go  on 
runnin'  over  us,  but  I'll  show  'em,  jus'  you  wait,  I'll  show 


CHAPTER  XVII 

ON  the  following  Sunday  Brother  Maxcy  and  the  pre- 
siding elder,  Brother  Moreton,  who  was  a  sort  of  eccle- 
siastical supervisor,  came  to  dinner  with  the  Robertsons. 
Sister  Maxcy  was  away  on  a  visit  to  her  people  in  West 
Texas.  It  was  the  time  for  the  quarterly  conference  to 
meet  in  Compton,  and  Brother  Moreton  had  stayed  over 
to  preach  the  Sunday  morning  sermon. 

At  the  table  the  talk  turned  on  the  spiritual  condition 
of  the  community.  Brother  Moreton,  being  as  one  in 
authority,  held  forth.  "Sin  is  rampant  everywhere.  When 
I  look  about  me,  I  am  appalled.  Men  will  not  take  the 
gospel  and  apply  it  to  their  hearts  and  conduct.  I  labor  in 
the  vineyard  of  the  Lord  till  I  am  exhausted,  and,  still, 
dancing  and  card-playing  and  horse-racing  and  'Sassiety* 
go  on  in  their  mad  race.  I  ask  you,  Sister  Robertson,  as 
a  good  Christian  woman,  what  would  become  of  the  world1 
if  it  wasn't  for  the  poorly  paid,  self-denying  ministers  of 
the  gospel?" 

"Oh,  probably  we  are  paid  as  much  as  we  are  really 
worth,"  interposed  Brother  Maxcy.  "Many  of  us  ac- 
complish very  little,  God  knows,  in  the  way  of  holy  liv- 
ing." 

"How  can  you  say  such  a  thing,  Maxcy,  and  in  the 
presence  of  Brother  Bob,  too?  Will  you  teach  our  Chris- 
tian young  men  to  fail  in  reverence  for  the  ministers  of 
God?" 

Mr.  Robertson  hastened  to  say,  "I  am  sure  our  min- 
isters are  not  paid  near  enough." 

127 


ia8  White  and  Black 

And  Mrs.  Robertson,  "I  know  Bob  never  will  fail  in 
reverence  for  a  minister  of  the  gospel.  Why,  Brother 
Moreton,  he  never  has  danced  a  step  and  he  doesn't  know 
one  card  from  another." 

"It  rejoices  me  to  know,  Sister  Robertson,  that  one 
young  man,  and  him  a  scion  of  one  of  our  most  prominent 
families  materially  as  well  as  spiritually,  is  being  brought 
up  as  a  true  Christian." 

"And  he  experienced  such  a  bright  conversion  at  our 
last  revival,  Brother  Moreton." 

"Oh,  I  heard  of  it,  and  it  filled  my  heart  with  joy,  a 
deep  spiritual  joy,  to  know  that  one  who  is  to  be  endowed 
with  this  world's  goods  that  might  have  proved  a  snare 
to  him,  a  sinful,  wicked,  deceitful  snare,  had  confessed 
his  Savior  and  surrendered  all  on  His  altar.  Oh,  he  will 
be  a  pillar  of  the  church,  a  glorious  pillar  of  the  church 
like  his  father  before  him!" 

Brother  Maxcy  saw  that  Bob  was  feeling  very  uncom- 
fortable, so  to  change  the  subject,  remarked,  "I  hear  you 
have  been  having  some  trouble  among  your  tenants, 
Brother  Robertson." 

"Yes,  a  hog-stealing  case,  but  I  suppose  it  is  settled 
until  court  now.  And  I  reckon  I  can  get  Madison  off 
with  the  lowest  sentence.  You  know  it's  sorter  natural' 
for  a  nigger  to  steal  shotes,  especially  when  there  is  to  be 
a  Nineteenth  celebration  and  he  hasn't  got  any  money." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  so,  the  poor  things,"  said  Brother 
Maxcy. 

"Well,  I  don't  know,"  Brother  Moreton  took  the  word, 
"an  example  has  to  be  made.  They  must  be  taught  to  re- 
spect the  rights  of  property.  'Thou  shalt  not  steal'  is  as 
important  a  commandment  as  any  other,  I  apprehend. 
Brother  Robertson,  you  stewards  and  official  members 


White  and  Black  129 

should  set  an  example  of  law  enforcement,  so  that  the  ter- 
rors of  the  law  may  restrain  evil-doers.  Was  it  your  hogs 
he  stole,  Brother  Robertson?" 

"No,  they  belonged  to  Sim  Senter,  a  white  tenant  of 
mine." 

"Oh,"  said  Brother  Moreton,  "well,  anyway,  he  ought 
to  be  punished." 

"That's  what  I  tell  Papa,"  Bob  found  courage  to  say, 
"but  he's  so  tender-hearted." 

"Yes,  I  believe  Will  would  give  everything  he  has  to 
the  niggers  if  he  had  his  way  about  it,"  said  Mrs.  Rob- 
ertson. 

"Oh,  no,  not  so  bad  as  that,"  answered  Mr.  Robertson, 
"but  Brother  Moreton,  did  you  ever  have  a  sort  of  feel- 
ing that  really  it  is  unjust  for  some  of  us  to  live  in 
abundance  and  others  to  have  so  little,  and  especially  when 
those  others  do  the  actual  work?" 

"No,  no,  Brother  Robertson,  that's  flying  in  the  face 
of  Providence.  The  good  Lord  distributes  his  abundance 
as  he  divinely  sees  fit.  To  some  he  gives  ten  talents,  to 
others  one,  and  blessed  be  His  will." 

"I  have  a  sort  of  sneaking  notion,"  said  Mr.  Robert- 
son, "that  men  have  a  good  deal  to  do  with  the  distribu- 
tion." 

Brother  Maxcy  laughed,  but  Brother  Moreton  looked 
more  serious  than  ever  and  said,  "It  is  through  just  such 
doors  that  socialism  and  anarchism  and  a  thousand  other 
pernicious  isms  seek  to  enter  Christian  hearts,  Brother 
Robertson.  Let  Christians  give  of  their  substance  to  the 
church  of  God,  and  that  church  will  sufficiently  care  for 
the  poor  and  needy.  Oh,  why  are  men  so  hard  of  heart 
and  will  not  contribute  joyfully,  abundantly  of  their  means 
to  the  church  of  the  living  God  ?" 


130  White  and  Black 

He  glared  around  impressively,  and  Mr.  Robertson  felt 
abashed,  as  if  he  were  not  giving  enough  to  the  church. 
He  resolved  to  think  about  increasing  his  contribution, 
but  found  himself  asking,  "Brother  Moreton,  what  do  you 
think  about  niggers  in  Heaven?  Will  they  be  like  us 
there?" 

"It  is  not  given  me  to  know,"  answered  Brother  More- 
ton,  "but  I  do  know  that  the  redeeming  blood  of  Jesus 
Christ  can  wash  away  all  impurities  of  sin,  why  not  then 
of  color?" 

"But  aren't  those  impurities  of  sin  washed  away  here 
and  now?" 

"Yes,  most  certainly  they  are,  and  through  the  divine 
process  of  conversion  we  are  made  pure  and  undefiled. 
And — and — but — but  with  color  somehow  it  is  different," 
he  finished  lamely. 

Brother  Maxcy  said,  "Doesn't  the  fact  seem  to  be  that 
if  God  had  wanted  us  to  associate  here  intimately  and  on 
terms  of  equality  with  niggers,  that  he  would  have  made 
them  more  like  us  or  us  more  like  them?  And  isn't  it 
our  duty  to  act  in  accord  with  known  facts,  leaving  the 
unknown  future  to  take  care  of  itself  under  the  guidance 
of  God?" 

"Yes,  yes,  certainly,"  answered  Brother  Moreton,  "but 
you  don't  mean  to  say  that  the  future  of  God's  children 
is  unknown?" 

"Oh,  I  merely  mean  to  say  that  I  don't  know  whether 
•niggers  are  going  to  be  made  white  in  Heaven  or  not, 
and,"  he  continued  with  spirit,  "I  don't  believe  anybody 
else  does." 

"Oh,  no,  no,  certainly  not,  but  then  they  may  be." 

"Well,  I  hope  they  will  be,"  said  Brother  Maxcy,  "and 
one  thing  is  certain,  they've  got  to  be,  if  I  associate  with 


White  and  Black  r!3'l! 

'em  on  terms  of  equality.  The  only  way  they  ever  can 
be  made  white  here  is  by  hundreds  of  years  of  miscegena- 
tion, and  I  don't  fancy  the  process !" 

If  Sister  Maxcy  had  been  present,  she  might  have  been 
gratified  to  see  her  saint  angry  at  least  once.  But  his 
heat  arose  really  out  of  the  circumstance  that  he  dis- 
trusted and  disliked  Brother  Moreton,  believing  him  to  be 
a  hypocrite.  And,  indeed,  he  had  gone  much  further  than 
he  had  intended  at  the  outset. 

Brother  Moreton  held  up  his  hand.  "To  think  of  using 
such  a  word  in  the  presence  of  Brother  Bob  and  Sister 
Robertson,"  he  said  in  a  tone  of  rebuke.  "I  am  humil- 
iated, mortified!" 

"If  we  had  more  plain  speaking,  we  might  have  more 
righteous  acting,"  snapped  Brother  Maxcy,  realizing  that 
Brother  Moreton  had  put  him  at  a  disadvantage. 

"Ah,  well,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  smiling,  "there's  plenty 
of  room  for  more  righteous  acting.  But  I  move  we  ad- 
journ to  the  hall,"  and  he  rose  from  his  seat,  the  meal 
having  been  finished. 

Mrs.  Robertson  stayed  in  the  dining-room  to  see  about 
the  putting  away  of  her  best  napkins  and  silver  that  were 
brought  out  only  on  special  occasions.  The  men  took 
seats  in  the  hall  for  a  smoke,  and  Bob  escaped  from  the 
company  of  the  preachers,  by  alleging  that  he  had  to  go 
and  see  if  the  horses  had  had  their  noon  watering. 

"As  only  we  are  present,"  said  Brother  Moreton,  "and 
as  I  am  deeply  interested  in  the  spiritual  improvement  of 
this  and  the  other  communities  in  my  district,  I  should 
like  to  ask  if  illicit  relations  between  white  men  and 
Negro  women  are  as  frequent  here  as  ever,  or  is  there 
an  improvement  in  the  conduct  and  sentiment  of  the 
people?" 


132  White  and  Black 

"I  think  there  is  some  improvement,"  said  Mr.  Robert- 
son. "It  doesn't  seem  to  me  to  be  so  common  as  it  used 
to  be.  What  do  you  think  about  it,  Brother  Maxcy?" 

"I  agree  with  you,"  answered  Brother  Maxcy,  "although 
there  is  only  too  much  of  it  still." 

"Is  it  not  true,  Maxcy,  that  Brother  Hiram  Shorter, 
who  sings-  in  your  choir,  is  suspected  of  such  relations  ?" 

"It  is  more  than  a  suspicion.  It  amounts  to  quite  posi- 
tive knowledge,"  answered  Brother  Maxcy. 

"Is  the — ah — woman  young  or  particularly  attractive 
looking?" 

"Well,  yes,  the  present  one  is  young,  and  for  a  nigger, 
attractive  looking.  She  is  Rosy,  a  daughter  of  one  of 
Brother  Robertson's  tenants,  and  she  is  a  bright  mulatto." 

"Ah,  a  bright  mulatto,  is  she  ?  And  may  I  ask  if  there 
have  been  or  are  to  be  any — ah — ah — consequences  of 
this  relation?" 

"Well,  I  have  been  told  that  she  is  soon  to  have  a 
baby,"  answered  Brother  Maxcy. 

"Umph-hunh!  And  how  do  you  reconcile  those  facts 
with  the  fact  that  such  a  debauchee  is  permitted  to  sing 
in  your  choir?" 

"Oh,  Mr.  Hiram  is  not  a  debauchee,"  said  Mr.  Rob- 
ertson, laughing.  "Ha!  ha!  ha!  the  idea  of  Mr.  Hiram 
being  a  debauchee !" 

"Well,  what  would  you  call  him,  Brother  Robertson?" 
And  Brother  Moreton  pursed  up  his  lips  as  if  he  had 
asked  a  poser. 

"I  don't  know  exactly,"  he  answered,  still  smiling,  "what 
would  you  call  him,  Brother  Maxcy?" 

"I  would  call  him  first  a  kind-hearted  human  being, 
second,  a  good  bookkeeper,  third,  a  polite  and  considerate 
gentleman,  fourth,  a  mighty  poor  singer,  and  fifth,  a  sin- 


White  and  Black  [133 

ner  who  needs  a  lot  of  sympathy  and  tactful  guidance," 
answered  Brother  Maxcy  with  a  smile  on  his  lips,  but  with 
a  gleam  of  defiance  in  his  eye. 

"His  singing  doesn't  then — ah — contribute  to  the — ah 
— harmony  of  your  choir?"  asked  Brother  Moreton. 

"No,  rather  interferes  with 'it  than  otherwise,  I  think. 
But  it  is  so  bad  anyway  that  I  don't  think  it  makes  much 
difference." 

"And  your  idea  of  sympathy  and  tactful  guidance  is  to 
let  him  continue  to  sing  in  the  choir?" 

"Partly  that,"  answered  Brother  Maxcy. 

"But  have  you  not  thought  of  the  devastating  effect 
that  such  an  example,  receiving  as  it  were  the  endorse- 
ment of  the  church,  is  bound  to  have  on  the  morals  of  the 
young  men  of  the  community?" 

"Yes,  I  have  thought  of  that." 

"Well,  how  do  you  explain  your  attitude?  I  am  sure 
that  the  Bishop  will  be  interested  to  hear." 

"I  haven't  explained  it." 

"Perhaps  you  will  have  the  kindness,  then,  to  explain 
it  now." 

"Oh,  what's  the  use?"  And  Brother  Maxcy  threw  out 
his  hands  in  a  petulant  gesture.  "But  I  might  as  well. 
Knowing  Mr.  Hiram  Shorter's  character  and  history  as 
I  do,  I  think  the  one  thread  binding  him  to  religion  is 
his  singing  in  the  choir,  and  I  am  unwilling  to  cut  that 
thread,  even  at  the  risk  of  possible  injury  to  some  young 
men.  By  not  cutting  it  I  think  I  shall  save  Mr.  Hiram, 
by  cutting  it  I  don't  know  that  I  would  save  anybody." 

"And  yet  he  is  practising  the  very  miscegenation  that 
you  condemn  so  violently?" 

"Yes,  he  is." 

"The  thing  about   Brother   Maxcy,"   interposed   Mr. 


ft34  White  and  Black 

Robertson,  "is  that  he  condemns  the  sin,  but  he  loves 
the  sinner.  We  all  know  that,  and  we  would  do  anything 
in  reason  for  him." 

Brother  Maxcy  jerked  out  his  handkerchief  and  blew 
his  nose  violently  and  dabbed  at  his  eyes  two  or  three 
times,  although  up  to  then  he  had  shown  no  signs  of  a 
cold. 

"Would  it  be  in  reason  for  Mr.  Hiram  Shorter  to  give 
up  that  practice  for  him  ?"  asked  Brother  Moreton. 

"Well,  yes,  in  time  it  will,  I  am  sure  it  will,"  answered 
Mr.  Robertson,  "if  nobody  interferes  and  goes  to  lec- 
turing Mr.  Hiram  or  turning  him  out  of  the  choir.  But 
it  will  take  some  time." 

"Well,  maybe,  we  had  better  return  Maxcy  to  this 
charge  next  year  for  Mr.  Hiram's  sake,"  said  Brother 
Moreton  sarcastically. 

"By  all  means,  for  all  our  sakes,"  said  Mr.  Robertson 
with  enthusiasm. 

Compton  was  not  a  desirable  station,  so  there  was  a 
gleam  of  satisfaction  in  Brother  Moreton's  eye  as  he  said, 
"I  shall  certainly  recommend  that  to  the  Bishop.  And  by 
the  way,  Bishop  Macdonald  is  to  have  charge  of  this 
Conference  next  fall,  and  if  I  do  say  it,  I  am  his  most 
trusted  adviser.  In  the  Cabinet  he  always  asks  my  opin- 
ion first." 

"But  speaking  of  miscegenation,  Brother  Moreton," 
said  Mr.  Robertson,  "I  understand  that  you  have  preached 
in  various  parts  of  Texas  and  indeed  in  many  different 
sections  of  the  South,  and  I  should  like  to  know  if  you 
think  it  is  as  common  elsewhere  as  in  our  immediate  com- 
munity." 

"Well,  yes  and  no,"  answered  Brother  Moreton. 
"Wherever  niggers  are  in  the  majority,  or  at  least  in 


White  and  Black  135 

large  numbers,  it  is  very  common,  particularly  in  the  rural 
districts.  I  say  particularly  in  the  rural  districts,  because 
in  the  cities  the  contact  between  white  and  black  is  hardly 
so  close,  and  then  besides  in  the  cities  I  am  sorry  to  say 
that  there  are  generally  many  white  women  of  ill-repute. 
And  other  things  being  equal,  of  course  a  sinful  white 
man  would  prefer  a  white  woman." 

"And  what  do  you  think  will  be  the  cure  for  it,  if  there 
is  any  cure?"  asked  Mr.  Robertson. 

"The  same  cure  as  for  all  of  the  sins  of  humanity,  the 
church  of  the  living  God,"  proclaimed  Brother  Moreton 
with  emphasis,  "but  the  trouble  is  that  our  laymen  with- 
hold their  means  from  the  treasury  of  the  Lord,  and  so 
the  power  of  the  church  is  crippled." 

"I  don't  believe  that  is  the  reason,"  said  Brother  Maxcy, 
"if  the  church  had  forty  times  as  much  money,  that  still 
would  not  effect  a  cure." 

"Well,  what  in  the  name  of  common  sense  do  you 
believe  is  the  reason,  Maxcy?" 

"I  think  it  is  a  whole  lot  of  things,  the  comparative 
defenselessness  of  niggers,  passion  and  vanity  in  black 
women,  lust  in  white  men,  timidity,  poverty,  and  lack 
of  faith  in  the  teaching  of  the  church." 

"Well,  how  are  you  going  to  cure  them  unless  you  have 
more  money  to  build  more  churches,  to  hire  more  and 
better  preachers,  to  spread  the  gospel  ?  Answer  me  that." 

"For  one  thing  I  think  there  should  be  a  reformation 
in  the  church  beginning  at  the  top.  First  we  ought  to 
clean  our  own  house." 

"Do  you  mean  to  accuse  our  bishops  and  connectional 
officers  and  presiding  elders  and  prominent  ministers  with 
laxness  or  dissoluteness  or  corruption?  Do  you  mean 


136  White  and  Black 

that?"  exclaimed  Brother  Moreton,  losing  his  temper 
altogether. 

"I  don't  mean  to  accuse  anybody  of  anything,  and,  of 
course,  not  the  ministry  of  miscegenation,"  answered 
Brother  Maxcy.  "You  asked  me  what  I  thought  and  I 
told  you.  But  a  blind  man  could  see  that  when  it  comes 
to  any  real  self-denial,  we  don't  practise  what  we  preach. 
We  are  as  avid  of  money  as  anybody  and  as  servile  before 
it.  We  are  like  ordinary  politicians,  we  plot  and  scheme 
for  personal  preferment.  We  seek  power,  not  holiness, 
and  we  make  piety  a  mask  for  that  seeking." 

Before  Brother  Moreton  could  answer,  Mr.  Robertson 
interposed.  "Brother  Moreton,  I  am  anxious  to  know  what 
you  think  about  the  activities  of  the  Ku  Klux  Klan.  They 
seem  to  be  spreading  throughout  the  South  and  indeed 
the  papers  say  there  are  many  branches  in  the  North, 
too." 

"Yes,  I  have  noticed,"  said  Brother  Moreton,  glaring 
at  Brother  Maxcy,  "I  have  noticed.  And  I  am  not  sure  it 
wouldn't  be  a  good  thing  for  them  to  operate  in  this  com- 
munity. I  haven't  heard  of  where  they  have  punished 
anybody  but  evil-doers.  And  they  seem  to  have  made  a 
specialty  of  people  like  Mr.  Hiram  Shorter,  Maxcy's 
great  friend.  One  thing  certain  is  that  their  treatment 
would  cure  him  of  miscegenation  more  effectually  than 
ten  years  of  singing  in  the  choir."  He  chuckled,  "Yes, 
that  would  cure  him." 

"But,  Brother  Moreton,  surely  you  do  not  realize  how 
such  activity  as  theirs  flouts  all  law,  disregards  every 
civil  right  of  a  citizen,  denies  and  tramples  upon  the 
guarantees  of  our  constitutions,  state  and  national,  sub- 
stitutes the  savagery  of  a  mob  for  ordered  judicial  pro- 


White  and  Black  137 

cesses,  and,  if  unchecked,  will  plunge  us  back  into  bar- 
barism!" said  Mr.  Robertson. 

"Oh,  Brother  Robertson,  I  think  you  take  the  matter 
too  seriously.  They  are  not  going  to  harm  anybody  like 
you  or  me  or  Maxcy.  And  there  are  offenses  that  the 
law  don't  seem  to  reach." 

"Why  not  revive  the  Holy  Inquisition  and  be  done  with 
it?"  asked  Brother  Maxcy.  "That  was  at  least  in  the 
hands  of  the  church." 

"Well,"  began  Brother  Moreton  angrily,  but  he  was 
interrupted  by  the  coming  of  Mrs.  Robertson,  which 
turned  the  talk  to  other  matters. 

In  the  course  of  the  ensuing  conversation  Brother  More- 
ton  took  occasion  to  say,  "Sister  Robertson,  I  have  re- 
solved on  my  rounds  this  year  to  make  the  subject  of 
family  prayer  my  special  province.  I  know  it  is  hardly 
necessary  for  me  to  inquire  about  this  family,  for  I  am 
sure  that  you  gather  around  the  family  altar  night  and 
morning  for  the  reading  of  the  Word  and  for  commun- 
ion with  our  heavenly  Father." 

Mrs.  Robertson  blushed,  hung  her  head,  and  cast  an 
embarrassed  look  at  her  husband,  "Well,  I — I — "  she 
stammered. 

Mr.  Robertson  came  to  her  relief,  but  there  was  a  guilty 
look  in  his  eye  as  if  he  had  committed  a  crime  or  been 
guilty  of  a  great  dereliction.  "No,  Brother  Moreton,  the 
fact  is,"  he  said,  "that  for  a  while  after  the  last  revival 
we  had  family  prayers  of  mornings,  but,  but  we  didn't  all 
get  up  at  the  same  time,  and— er — it  wasn't  very  con- 
venient, so  we  just  kinder  fell  out  of  the  way  of  it." 

"I'm  grieved,  truly  grieved  to  hear  it,  Brother  Robert- 
son. And — and,  Maxcy,  I  suppose  the  institution  of  fam- 
ily prayer  is  not  generally  observed  in  your  charge." 


138  White  and  Black 

"No,  I  don't  think  it  is,"  answered  Brother  Maxcy, 
and  he  added  defiantly,  "nor  in  any  other  charge  now- 
adays." 

"Please  do  not  assume  to  speak  about  other  charges 
too  certainly,  Maxcy.  There  is  danger  of  misrepresenta- 
tion where  the  facts  are  not  known." 

Without  answering,  Brother  Maxcy  rose  from  his  seat, 
went  out  to  the  front  porch,  and  walked  up  and  down  it, 
gazing  over  hill  and  dale  of  the  farms  spread  out  before 
him.  But  in  the  bright  sunshine  of  the  Sabbath  after- 
noon his  eyes  seemed  to  see  a  dark  mist  lowering  above 
the  smiling  land. 

When  the  ministers  were  gone,  Mr.  Robertson  said  to 
his  wife,  "Mamie,  you  know  I'm  not  a  profane  man,  but 
I'll  be  damned  if  that  Moreton  shall  ever  set  his  foot 
in  this  house  again !" 

"But,  Will,  he  is  our  presiding  elder." 

"I  don't  care  if  he  is  our  President-elect,  the  outside  of 
this  house  is  all  he  will  ever  see!" 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

AT  dusk  on  Tuesday,  after  the  day's  work  was  over, 
Joe  Williams  came  to  have  a  talk  with  Mr.  Robertson. 
He  stood  respectfully  at  the  front  steps  with  his  hat  off, 
saying,  "Mr.  Will,  I  wants  to  speak  to  you  about  a  mat- 
ter." 

"All  right,  Joe,"  answered  Mr.  Robertson,  who  was 
sitting  on  the  porch,  "sit  down  on  the  step  there  and  tell 
me  about  it." 

"Waal,  suh,  our  new  paschur  say  de  Shady  Grove 
Church  house  is  a  disgrace  to  de  Babtis'  religion,  an' 
he  say  we  must  make  it  bigger  an'  fix  it  up.  An'  he  got 
de  plans  all  ready,  an'  it  will  cost  a  thousand  dollars." 

"And  you  want  me  to  subscribe  something?"  said  Mr. 
Robertson,  smiling. 

"Waal,  suh,  you  see  dey  done  'pinted  a  committee  to 
collect,  and  Fs  de  cheerman  of  de  committee,  and  of  co'se 
I  got  to  git  up  de  most  of  any  of  'em.  An'  de  paschur 
say  go  to  de  bes'  ones  fust  and  let  dem  set  a  high  water 
mark  for  de  others  to  come  up  to,  so  I  come  to  you 
de  ve'y  fust  one  of  all." 

"That's  the  speech  of  a  diplomat,  Joe,  I  congratulate 
you." 

"Yassuh,  when  Christ's  disciples  needed  anything,  dey 
always  come  a-runnin'  to  de  Master  fust  off,  an'  dat's 
whut  I'm  a-doin',  Mr.  Will." 

"Well,  now,  Joe,  that's  putting  it  pretty  strongly.  I 
couldn't  possibly  get  out  of  giving  you  something  now, 
could  I?  Your  new  'paschur'  has  a  good  eye  when  it 

139 


140  White  and  Black 

comes  to  choosing  a  chairman  for  his  collection  com- 
mittee. How  much  did  you  hope  to  get  out  of  me?" 

"Waal,  Mr.  Will,  you  know  us  black  folk  can't  do 
much  by  ourselves,  an'  we  boun'  to  call  on  de  white  folks 
to  do  de  most  of  it." 

"I  don't  know,  Joe,  the  Shady  Grove  Church  must  have 
something  like  a  hundred  and  fifty  members.  It  would 
come  to  only  about  seven  dollars  apiece." 

"Yassuh,  but  lots  of  'em  is  women  an'  chillun.  Of 
co'se  some  of  de  women  is  de  bes'  payin'  members  we 
got.  But  takin'  it  all  aroun',  we  ain't  got  hardly  a  hun- 
derd  payin'  members." 

"But  you  must  remember,  Joe,  that  that's  a  Baptist 
church  and  I  am  a  Methodist.  And  you  Baptists  believe 
we  Methodists  are  all  going  to  hell  anyhow,  so  what's  the 
use?" 

"Naw,  suh,  Mr.  Will,  it's  dis  a-way.  Of  co'se  dey  is 
boun'  to  be  one  true  religion,  an'  dey  can't  be  but  one, 
an'  of  co'se  dat's  de  Babtis'.  An'  if  a  man  die  outside  de 
Babtis'  church,  it's  gwine  to  go  hard  wid  him.  But  a 
man  ain't  dead  till  he  dies,  an'  dar  ain't  no  tellin'  whut  a 
man  will  change  to  befo'  dat  time." 

"So  you  think  I  might  become  a  Baptist  yet?"  Mr. 
Robertson  asked,  laughing. 

"Yassuh,  an'  den  whutever  you  is  give  in  time  past,  is 
counted  to  you  for  righteousness." 

"Oh,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  "I  see.  Well,  I  suppose  that 
line  of  argument  ought  to  be  good  for  twenty-five  dol- 
lars, eh?" 

"I  been  a-thinkin'  you'd  sho'  say  fifty,  Mr.  Will." 

"You'll  have  to  revise  your  thoughts,  Joe.  I  think 
twenty-five  is  pretty  liberal." 

"Yassuh,  thank  you  kindly,  Mr.  Will,  but  you  ain't 


White  and  Black  141 

got  a  pair  of  ole  shoes,  is  you,  dat  ar  pair  whut  I  seen 
you  ridin'  in  las'  week?  Dey  got  a  hole  in  'em  'bout  whar 
de  little  toe  is  on  de  lef  foot.  Malviny  needs  a  pair 
mighty  bad  to  work  'round  de  house  in.  An'  I  says  to 
myse'f  las'  week,  Mr.  Will  ain't  gwine  to  wear  dem  shoes 
no  mo',  dey  got  a  hole  in  'em." 

"But  that  hole  is  hardly  bigger  than  a  pin  head,  Joe. 
I  don't  see  how  you  ever  came  to  notice  it." 

"De  way  I  looks  at  it,  Mr.  Will,  is  dat  de  good  Lawd 
puts  eyes  in  a  man's  head,  and  den  he  say,  'I  give  you 
eyes,  now  use  'em.' " 

"All  right,  tell  Malviny  to  come  over  to-morrow  and 
get  the  shoes.  Ha !  ha !  ha ;  Joe,  you  are  smart.  I  wish 
I  had  your  business  ability.  But  they  tell  me  your  new 
'paschur'  is  teaching  you  niggers  a  lot  of  nonsense  about 
social  equality  and  about  your  being  pressed  down  by  the 
white  folks  and  all  that  sort  of  thing.  What  about  it?" 

"Dey  ain't  nuthin'  to  it,  Mr.  Will.  He  says  we  mus'  all 
think  it's  hon'able  to  be  black,  'cause  de  Lawd  made  us 
black.  An'  de  onliest  way  for  us  to  make  de  white  folks 
think  it  is  hon'able,  is  for  us  to  show  'em.  An'  de  way 
to  show  'em  is  for  us  to  be  good  Christians.  He  says  de 
fust  Christians  wuz  all  po'  an'  lowly,  an'  ain't  nobody 
ever  beat  'em  for  bein'  Christians  yit,  an'  why  can't  we  ?" 

"That's  mighty  good  doctrine,  Joe.  All  of  you  stick 
to  that.  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do.  I  will  stir  around 
among  the  white  folks  for  you,  and  I  wouldn't  be  sur- 
prised if  I  should  raise  a  hundred  dollars  or  more  for 
your  church." 

"Thank  you  kindly,  Mr.  Will,  but  when  you  does, 
you'll  let  me  put  it  down  on  my  list,  won't  you  ?" 

"Ha !  ha !  ha !  I  reckon  the  old  Adam  will  always  be 
pretty  strong  in  you,  Joe." 


142  White  and  Black 

"Waal,  Mr.  Will,  you  know  de  Good  Book  say  dat  a 
man  who  won't  take  keer  of  hiss'ef  is  wuss'n  an  infidell," 
answered  Joe,  triumphantly. 

"Well,  then,"  replied  Mr.  Robertson,  "you  will  always 
be  ranked  as  a  staunch  defender  of  the  faith,  but  what 
does  your  new  pastor  say  about  lynchings  and  things 
like  that?" 

"He  says  don't  do  nuthin'  to  be  lynched  for,  an'  den 
you  won't  be  lynched.  He  say  de  way  to  git  ahead  of 
all  lynchers  is  to  be  good.  He  say  dey  may  have  been 
a  good  black  man  or  a  good  white  man  lynched  some 
time,  somewhar,  but  he  ain't  knowed  about  it  puhsonally. 
But  if  dey  is  a  bad  nigger  'round  anywhar,  an'  de  lynch- 
ers git  started,  dey  mighty  apt  to  lynch  dat  bad  nigger 
on  gen'l  principles  whilst  dey's  about  it." 

"That  new  pastor  of  yours  is  either  mighty  good  or 
mighty  smart,  Joe.  I  want  to  have  a  talk  with  him  some 
time.  But  they  tell  me  he's  settin'  up  to  Lucindy.  How 
about  that?" 

"Dey  ain't  no  tellin',  Mr.  Will,  but  you  knows  how 
young  folks  is.  De  Lawd  made  'em  so  dey'll  have  a 
hankerin'  for  one  another." 

"But  do  you  think  a  man  of  his  education  would  hon- 
estly mean  to  marry  Lucindy  ?" 

"Lucindy  is  eddicated  herself,"  answered  Joe,  proudly, 
"she  kin  read  an'  write  an'  figger  as  good  as  anybody. 
He  ain't  gwine  to  find  any  gal  'round  hyeer  dat  kin 
beat  Lucindy." 

"Well,  there's  one  thing  at  any  rate,  Lucindy  has  got 
a  daddy  who  is  a  mighty  good  trader,  and  however  edu- 
cated your  new  pastor  may  be,  he  won't  be  able  to  out- 
trade  Joe  Williams  in  matrimony  or  anything  else,"  said 
Mr.  Robertson. 


White  and  Black  143 

"He'll  have  to  git  up  mighty  soon  in  de  mawnin'  to  put 
anything  over  me,  won't  he,  Mr.  Will?" 

"Or  slip  by  in  the  night,"  answered  Mr.  Robertson, 
laughing. 

"An'  he  ain't  gwine  to  do  dat  neither,"  said  Joe,  "but 
good  night,  Mr.  Will,  I  better  be  gittin'  to  bed,  so  I  kin 
work  good  to-morrer." 

"Good  night,  Joe!" 

After  the  chairman  of  the  collection  committee  had 
gone,  Mr.  Robertson  sat  for  a  while  thinking.  "Joe  is 
a  smart  nigger.  He  didn't  let  his  foot  slip  a  single  time. 
I  must  have  a  talk  with  Richard  Sanders,  this  new  pas- 
tor. It  may  be  that  at  last  the  niggers  have  got  a  good 
and  sensible  leader,  who  will  do  them  some  real  good. 
But  it's  not  likely.  And  I  believe  there  was  really  a  little 
bit  too  much  simplicity  about  Joe's  talk.  Well,  we'll  see." 

While  the  foregoing  conversation  was  in  progress  on 
the  porch,  Bob  and  his  mother  were  sitting  in  the  front 
room  reading  the  July  numbers  of  the  two  monthly 
magazines  for  which  the  family  subscribed.  The  windows 
were  open,  and  through  them  came  from  time  to  time  to 
the  hearing  of  the  readers  detached  bits  of  the  talk.  Bob 
heard  the  new  "paschur"  mentioned,  and  without  thinking 
much  beforehand,  his  mind  still  half  on  what  he  was 
reading,  he  said,  "I  heard  the  other  day  that  Richard 
Sanders  told  the  niggers  all  this  shouting  and  groaning 
in  the  church  was  foolishness,  and  for  them  to  stop  it." 

"Who  told  you?"  asked  his  mother. 

"Sally,"  he  answered,  then  he  hesitated,  "that — that 
is,  I  think  it  was  Sally." 

"Do  you  mean  John  Ramsey's  girl'?" 

"Yes,  I  think  it  was  her,"  he  answered  quite  evenly, 
having  recovered  his  composure. 


144  White  and  Black 

"How  did  you  happen  to  be  talking  to  Sally?"  asked 
his  mother. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,  she  was  passing  along  the  road 
when  I  came  to  the  big  gate,  and  she  opened  it  for  me," 
which  was  indeed  the  truth,  although  Bob  was  sorry 
that  he  had  broached  the  topic. 

"But  I  didn't  know  she  went  to  his  church.  I  thought 
she  went  to  the  other,  where  John  preaches  sometimes." 

"That's  what  I  told  her,"  said  Bob,  "and  she  said 
Richard  was  telling  her  about  it  in  town  last  Saturday." 

"I  must  tell  Papa  about  this,"  said  Mrs.  Robertson. 
"He  really  had  hopes  of  Richard,  but  if  he  has  got  to 
running  around  with  Sally — you  know  what  a  bad  reputa- 
tion Sally  has,  Bob." 

"Yes,  I  have  heard  some  talk  about  her,"  said  Bob 
with  what  calmness  he  could  muster,  but  he  couldn't 
keep  from  blushing. 

"And  I  would  rather  you  shouldn't  be  seen  talking  to 
her,"  she  finished,  "there's  no  telling  what  sort  of  stories 
she  might  tell." 

"Yes,  she  may  never  have  seen  Richard  Sanders  at  all," 
said  Bob.  "But  don't  it  make  you  kinder  tired,  Mama,  for 
a  nigger  to  go  off  to  all  sorts  of  colleges  and  come  back 
here  to  be  the  spiritual  leader  of  his  people?  I'll  bet 
you  he  thinks  inside  of  his  woolly  head  that  he's  better 
than  any  of  us." 

"I  can't  keep  from  feeling  that  way  about  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Robertson,  "but  Papa  says,  and  it  seems  right,  too,  that 
the  only  hope  for  the  niggers  is  for  them  to  be  educated 
and  to  be  better  taught  morally  also." 

"Well,  it  looks  to  me  like  we  are  in  trouble  either  way," 
said  Bob.  "If  we  do  educate  'em  and  make  'em  moral 
and  all  that,  they'll  think  they  are  as  good  as  we  are.  And 


White  and  Black  145 

if  we  don't  educate  'em  and  make  'em  more  moral,  then 
they'll  always  be  lying  and  stealing  and  doing  all  the 
things  they  do,  and  give  us  trouble  that  way.  What  do 
you  think,  Mama?" 

"Well,  that's  the  race  problem,  son.  And  our  wisest 
men  haven't  solved  it  yet.  Papa  says,  though,  that  when 
in  doubt,  do  what  is  helpful  now  and  try  to  get  other 
people  to  do  that,  and  everything  will  come  out  as  it 
should.  And  that  looks  like  a  mighty  good  platform." 

"Yes,  Mama,  that's  so,  but  after  all,  this  is  a  white 
man's  country.  And  just  suppose,  Mama,  that  the  nig- 
gers should  get  to  owning  all  of  the  land  and  have  white 
folks  working  for  'em.  I  don't  see  how  we  could  stand 
that,  do  you?" 

"No,  son,  I  don't  see  how  we  could  stand  that." 

"I'd  die  first,"  said  Bob,  "before  I'd  work  for  a  nig- 
ger." 

"So  would  I,  son,  and  in  spite  of  all  Papa  tries  to  do 
for  them,  I  believe  he  would,  too." 

"What's  that  I  would  do,  too?"  asked  Mr.  Robertson 
coming  in,  and  looking  smilingly  at  his  wife  and  son. 

"Bob  and  I  were  just  discussing  the  race  question,  dear, 
and  we  agreed  that  we'd  die  before  we  would  work  for 
a  nigger,  that  is,  with  a  nigger  over  us  for  our  boss.  And 
I  said  I  believe  you  would,  too." 

"But  I  don't  think  there  is  any  danger  of  our  coming 
to  that,"  answered  Mr.  Robertson. 

"But  you  would,  wouldn't  you,  Will?" 

"Yes,  honey,  I  would,"  he  said.  "But  somehow  I  just 
happened  to  think  about  the  Deanes.  We  haven't  had 
them  out  here  for  quite  a  while,  suppose  we  bring  'em  out 
to  spend  the  day  to-morrow?" 


146  White  and  Black 

"I  think  that  will  be  fine,  don't  you,  Bob?"  answered 
Mrs.  Robertson,  looking  at  her  son  archly. 

"Well,"  said  Bob,  "I  thought  of  riding  over  to  the  big 
pasture  in  the  morning." 

"I  don't  see  any  need  to  go  over  to  the  big  pasture. 
Haven't  you  been  going  over  there  pretty  often  lately?" 
said  Mr.  Robertson. 

"It  has  been  nearly  a  week  since  I've  been  there,'* 
answered  Bob. 

"Oh,  Bob  is  just  trying  to  make  out  like,"  said  his 
mother,  smiling  teasingly. 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  "you  can  drive  the  car 
into  town  and  bring  'em  out  in  the  morning,  Bob." 

"All  right,  Papa,  how  early  do  I  have  to  go?" 

"Oh,  not  very  early,  why?" 

"I  was  thinking  I  could  go  over  to  the  pasture  firs£ 
and  then  drive  in  for  them  when  I  came  back." 

"No,  you  are  not  going  to  any  pasture  in  the  morning," 
thundered  Mr.  Robertson. 

"But,  Will,"  said  Mrs.  Robertson,  "it  seems  to  me — " 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  "we  won't  argue  that  point." 

Bob  flushed  very  red,  sat  a  moment  in  silence,  then  rose 
saying,  "Good  night,  everybody,  I  believe  I'll  go  to  bed." 

After  he  had  gone,  Mrs.  Robertson  said,  "Will,  you 
hurt  his  feelings  dreadfully.  Why  didn't  you  want  him 
to  go  to  the  pasture  ?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  "I  don't  know 
just  exactly  why,  but  I  don't  want  him  to  'go,  and  he  is 
not  going." 

He  spoke  almost  angrily,  so  Mrs.  Robertson  said,  "All 
right,  honey,  I'm  going  to  bed,  will  you  come?" 

"No,  I  believe  I'll  sit  up  and  read  a  while." 


White  and  Black  147 

"Well,  good  night,  then !"  she  kissed  him,  and  went  up- 
stairs. 

Mr.  Robertson  sat  with  a  magazine  in  his  hand,  but 
he  turned  no  pages.  "There  is  something  wrong  about 
that  pasture,"  he  said,  "there  is  certainly  something  wrong 
about  that  pasture." 

When  he  did  go  upstairs,  Mrs.  Robertson  was  still  not 
asleep  as  she  had  been  worrying  about  her  husband's 
seemingly  irrational  anger.  He  said,  "What!  not  asleep 
yet,  Mamie?" 

She  answered,  "No,  I  have  been  thinking.  Bob  told 
me  that  Sally  told  him  she  had  been  talking  with  Richard 
Sanders  in  town  last  Saturday.  And  you  know,  Will,  if 
Richard  gets  to  talking  with  her  what  the  outcome  is 
likely  to  be." 

"Did  Bob  tell  you  that  Sally  told  him?" 

"Yes." 

"Well,  I'll  have  to  look  into  that,"  said  Mr.  Robertson 
with  anxiety  that  he  could  not  wholly  repress,  "but,"  he 
added  after  a  moment,  "I  don't  reckon  there  is  anything 
in  it.  Ha — ha — hum,  I'm  sleepy." 

But  he  didn't  sleep  much  that  night,  his  mind  was 
working  on  the  problem  of  Bob  and  the  big  pasture,  and 
this  injection  of  Sally  into  the  field  of  his  thought  brought 
him  very  near  to  an  unwelcome  solution  of  the  puzzle. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

ABOUT  ten  o'clock  the  next  morning  Bob  returned  from 
Compton,  bringing  with  him  in  the  car  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Jasper  Deane  and  Minnie.  The  three  unmarried  boys, 
one  older  and  the  other  two  younger  than  Minnie,  had 
left  early  in  the  morning  to  hunt  up  some  of  their  cattle 
near  the  head  waters  of  Berry  Creek,  so  none  of  them 
came  with  Bob. 

Jasper  Deane,  the  father,  was  a  man  of  sixty,  and 
Miriam  Deane,  the  mother,  a  woman  of  fifty-five.  They 
were  well-to-do,  owning  both  land  and  cattle,  and  they 
belonged  to  the  same  church  as  the  Robertsons.  Mr. 
Deane  was  somewhat  querulous  and  irascible,  and  had 
adopted  a  different  policy  in  regard  to  his  tenants  from 
that  of  Mr.  Robertson,  which  probably  accounted,  at  least 
in  part,  for  his  greater  financial  solidity.  Jasper  Deane 
was  known  far  and  wide  as  a  man  of  strict  integrity,  but 
even  farther  and  wider  as  a  man  who  would  have  every 
cent  that  was  legally  his.  His  favorite  saying  was,  "I 
want  what  is  mine,  no  more  and  no  less,  and  I  am  going 
to  have  it."  But  in  deciding  what  was  his,  his  enemies 
said,  he  was  quite  generous — to  himself.  And  he  had 
a  good  many  enemies,  for  he  had  sued  many  people  at 
law.  What  he  liked  to  talk  about  most  was  how  some- 
body or  other  tried  to  cheat  him,  but  how  he  had  brought 
such  nefarious  plans  to  confusion  and  triumphed  over  the 
plotters.  He  had  a  passion  for  running  attachments  on 
the  property  of  debtors  who  he  thought  were  trying  to 

148 


White  and  Black  149 

defraud  him.  And,  indeed,  quite  generally  he  made  col- 
lections where  others  failed. 

His  wife  Miriam  was  a  shrewd,  placid  woman  and 
a  good  housekeeper  with  a  leaning  toward  thrift,  which 
bent  she  had  acquired  since  marriage,  in  consequence 
of  the  magnetic  current  of  economy  that  coursed  through 
the  system  of  her  husband. 

The  Robertsons  welcomed  them  at  the  front  steps. 
"Well,  well,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  "I  am  mighty  glad 
to  see  all  of  you,  but  where  are  the  boys?" 

"They  had  to  go  to  look  after  some  cattle,"  said  Mr. 
Deane,  "up  the  creek.  I  think  some  of  them  fellers  up 
there  have  been  sticking  the  wrong  kind  of  brands  on 
some  of  my  calves,  and  I'll  catch  the  rascals  yet,  see  if  I 
don't." 

"You'll  catch  'em  all  right,  I'm  sure,"  said  Mr.  Rob- 
ertson, "but  come  right  in,  all  of  you.  I'm  sorry  the 
boys  couldn't  come  with  you." 

"No,  my  boys  are  hard  workers,  every  one  of  them," 
said  Mr.  Deane,  casting  a  glance  out  of  the  corner  of  his 
eye  at  Bob,  as  they  entered  the  house. 

Mrs.  Robertson  conducted  Mrs.  Deane  and  Minnie 
upstairs  to  her  room  to  dispose  of  their  hats,  powder 
their  noses,  engage  in  a  few  minutes  of  feminine  chatter 
about  children,  husbands,  recent  deaths,  prospective  mar- 
riages, and  the  present  triflingness  of  nigger  servants  in 
comparison  with  what  they  used  to  be.  And  there  was 
to  be  doubtless  an  interchange  of  amenities  in  regard  to 
styles,  dresses,  and  the  high  cost  of  living  interspersed 
with  a  disquisition  by  Mrs.  Robertson  on  the  merits  of 
Bob. 

Downstairs  in  the  sitting-room  the  men  talked  about 
the  weather,  the  crops,  the  Ku  Klux  Klan,  and  the 


150  White  and  Black 

triflingness  of  niggers,  interspersed  with  a  disquisition  by 
Mr.  Deane  on  extravagance  in  general,  the  high  cost  of 
living,  and  the  prevailing  indisposition  on  the  part  of 
debtors  to  pay  their  debts. 

When  the  ladies  came  down,  Mrs.  Robertson  said, 
"Bob,  I  wonder  if  you  and  Minnie  wouldn't  like  to  gather 
a  few  peaches  from  those  trees  nearest  the  house.  I  have 
a  sunbonnet  here  for  Minnie." 

"I  think  it  would  be  awfully  jolly,"  Minnie  answered, 
seeing  through  the  transparent  stratagem  at  once. 

"Certainly,"  said  Bob  without  enthusiasm,  "come  on, 
Minnie." 

When  they  reached  the  orchard,  Minnie  said,  "It  looked 
like  you  didn't  want  to  come  out  here  with  me,  Bob." 

"Oh,  no,"  said  Bob,  "it's  all  right.  I'm  glad  to  come. 
Let's  see,  I  believe  that  tree  over  there  has  the  best 
peaches  on  it." 

"Somehow  it  seems  to  me  that  you  are  sulky  about 
something,"  insisted  Minnie. 

"No,  I  never  was  in  a  better  humor  in  my  life.  If 
you  will  hold  the  basket  a  minute,  I  will  get  the  peaches." 

"If  you  don't  want  me  out  here,  I  will  go  back  to  the 
house  this  minute,"  she  exclaimed,  "there  for  the  old 
basket!"  She  threw  the  basket  on  the  ground,  stamped 
her  foot,  then  put  her  hands  to  her  face,  and  turned  to 
go. 

Bob  hastened  to  catch  her  hands  and  pull  them  from  her 
face.  "No,  Minnie,  I — I — you  know — I  oughtn't — I 
oughtn't,"  he  stammered. 

"What  on  earth  is  the  matter  with  you,  Bob  Robert- 
son?" 

"Well— well,  I  can't  tell  you,  but—" 


White  and  Black 

"Oh,  so  you've  got  a  great  big  dark  secret,  have  you? 
How  funny !"  She  spoke  with  sarcasm. 

"Well,  yes,  I  have,"  answered  Bob  somewhat  defi- 
antly, but  blushingly. 

"Oh,  and  what  is  it,  you  oughtn't  to  do?" 

"I  oughtn't  to — to  think  about  you,  much  less — " 

"Oh,  dear  me,  you  needn't  think  about  me.  If  that 
hurts  your  conscience,  you  may  save  yourself  the  worry !" 

"Now,  Minnie,  don't  get  mad  at  me,  but  yes,  maybe 
you'd  better." 

"Well,  I  must  say  you're  the  funniest  thing  this  morn- 
ing; I'm  going  straight  to  the  house,"  Minnie  declared, 
but  she  made  no  move. 

"No,  no,  please  don't,"  begged  Bob.  "Stay  here  till 
I  gather  the  peaches.  I — I  won't  touch  you,  I  oughtn't — " 

"What's  all  this  talk  about  touching  me  and  oughtn't?" 
asked  Minnie.  "I  don't  understand  it.  I'm  sure  I  don't 
want  you  to  touch  me,  now  or  ever !"  There  were  tears 
in  her  voice. 

"Just  please  wait  till  I  can  gather  the  peaches,"  said 
Bob.  "It  won't  do  for  us  to  go  in  without  them.  And 
please  don't  ever  say  anything  about — about  me  to — to 
anybody." 

"All  right."  answered  Minnie,  "I  will  sit  down  on  the 
grass  under  this  tree,  and  you  go  over  to  that  far  one, 
so  there  won't  be  the  least  danger  of  your  touching  me. 
It  might  be  better,  too,  for  you  to  shut  your  eyes  so  you 
won't  even  see  me.  Ha !  ha !  ha !"  she  laughed,  "I  might 
be  dangerous  even  to  look  at." 

"No,  no,  it's  not  that,"  began  Bob,  earnestly,  "but  I 
_!_» 

"Go  on  and  gather  the  old  peaches,"  said  Minnie, 
petulantly. 


152  White  and  Black 

When  they  returned  to  the  house,  Bob  stopped  by  the 
kitchen  to  give  the  peaches  to  Cindy  to  peel.  Minnie 
went  on  into  the  sitting-room. 

"Why,  where  is  Bob?"  asked  Mrs.  Robertson. 

"He  stopped  by  to  give  the  peaches  to  Cindy,"  an- 
swered Minnie,  "but  Miss  Mamie,  may  I  go  up  to  your 
room  to  wash  my  face?  It  was  so  hot  in  the  orchard 
and  the  peach  furs  on  my  hands  sting  so." 

"Certainly,  honey,  you  will  find  water  and  towels  and 
everything  up  there,  but  I'll  run  along  with  you." 

"Oh,  no,  no,  no,  don't,"  said  Minnie  with  more  vehe- 
mence than  she  had  intended  to  betray. 

"All  right,  honey,"  said  Mrs.  Robertson,  perceiving 
that  Minnie  wished  to  be  alone,  and  wondering  why  she 
and  Bob  had  quarreled.  But  she  thought  of  it  very  tol- 
erantly as  some  lovers'  quarrel  that  would  end  soon  in 
greater  devotion.  It  was  a  fixed  idea  in  her  mind  that 
Bob  and  Minnie  were  destined  for  each  other  and  deeply 
in  love.  She  was  thinking,  "The  poor  dear  young  fool- 
ish things !  They  must  have  their  tiffs." 

Minnie  threw  herself  face  down  on  the  bed  in  Mrs. 
Robertson's  room,  and  burst  into  tears,  waving  her  heels 
violently  and  exclaiming  over  and  over  again,  "I  hate 
him!  I  hate  him!  He's  in  love  with  some  other  girl, 
and  he  don't  know  how  to  tell  me  about  it.  I  hate  him ! 
I  hate  him!  But  maybe  he  has  done  something  wrong, 
very  wrong,  and  it's  his  conscience.  No,  no,  that  couldn't 
be,  he  is  such  a  good  boy!  All  the  boys  laugh  at  him 
for  being  such  a  good  boy.  He's  in  love  with  another 
girl.  Oh,  how  I  hate  him,  hate  him,  hate  him!" 

After  some  minutes  Mrs.  Deane  came  into  the  room 
quietly,  and  gently  inquired,  "What's  the  matter,  Minnie 
darling?" 


White  and  Black  153 

Minnie  pretended  to  awake  from  a  deep  sleep. 

"Why,  honey,  asleep  this  time  of  the  morning !  What 
can  be  the  matter  ?  Aren't  you  well  ?"  But  she  saw  the 
traces  of  tears  on  her  daughter's  face,  and  understood 
that  the  surmise  Mrs.  Robertson  had  confided  to  her  was 
correct 

"I  suppose  it  must  have  been  the  heat  in  the  orchard," 
said  Minnie,  but  her  lips  quivered. 

"No,  no,  honey,  don't  cry.     It  will  all  come  right." 

"But,  Mama,  Mama,  he  loves  somebody  else,  and  what 
am  I  going  to  do?" 

"No,  no,  honey,  he  couldn't  love  anybody  else.  Who 
could  he  love?" 

"Well,  then,  he  must  have  done  something  awful." 

"Why  do  you  think  that?" 

"Well,  he  said  he  ought  not  to  touch  me,  ought  not 
even  to  think  about  me,  and — and  it  looked  like  he  didn't 
know  what  to  say." 

"Did  he  say  that?"  asked  Mrs.  Deane,  stirred  out  of 
her  usual  placidity.  "Did  he  say  that?" 

"Yes,  yes,  Mama,  that's  what  he  said." 

"And  Mamie  holds  him  up  as  a  pattern  to  the  uni- 
verse," said  Mrs.  Deane,  speaking  to  herself  rather  than 
to  her  daughter.  Then,  "I  must  tell  you,  honey,  I  must 
tell  you  soon  what  young  men  here  usually  mean  when 
they  say  that,  but  not  now,  not  now.  Oh,  and  he,  too ! 
I  had  hoped,  but  never  mind,  honey,  we  can  forget  about 
him." 

"No,  no,  no,  Mama,  I  don't  want  to  forget  about 
him,"  exclaimed  Minnie  with  the  petulance  of  an  only 
daughter.  "I  know  he  hasn't  done  anything.  You 
mustn't  think  that  about  him." 

"Think  what,  honey?" 


154  White  and  Black 

"What  you  are  thinking." 

"What  am  I  thinking?" 

"Oh,  Mama,  I  know,  I  know  what  you  are  thinking. 
I  know  lots  of  things,  lots  of  things.  You  see,  Mama, 
I  go  to  school,  and  I  have  heard  women  talk,  white 
women  and  black.  And  I  know,  I  know.  How  could 
any  woman  here  not  know?  But  it  is  not  true  of  Bob, 
and — and  if  it  were — " 

"Yes,  honey,  if  it  were?" 

"Oh,  I — I  don't  know,  Mama,  but  I  don't  want  to 
give  him  up.  Who  is  there  that's  better?  And  he  is  so 
smart  and  good  looking  and — and  nice !" 

"Yes,  honey,  well,  don't  bother  now.  Dry  your  eyes. 
You  wouldn't  want  them  to  know  you  had  been  crying. 
Dry  your  eyes,  wash  your  face,  and  put  some  powder  on 
it.  You  will  need  to  be  brave,  honey.  Oh,  you  will 
need  to  be  brave!"  And  Mrs.  Deane  began  to  cry  her- 
self. 

"What's  the  matter,  Mama?" 

"Oh,  nothing  much,  honey.  It's  an  old,  old  matter, 
and  I'm  an  old,  old  woman.  But  come,  we  will  wash 
our  faces  together,  and  then  we'll  be  friends  forever," 
and  she  smiled  through  her  tears. 

Mother  and  daughter  came  down  the  stairs  smiling  as 
if  this  were  a  pleasant  world  inhabited  by  only  happy 
women  and  good  men.  Mr.  Deane  was  saying,  "If  the 
Ku  Klux  would  just  take  up  the  matter  of  making  folks 
pay  their  debts,  I  would  be  in  favor  of  their  work. 
Wouldn't  it  be  fine,  Will,  if  they'd  catch  some  of  these 
dead-beats  around  here  and  treat  'em  to  a  coat  of  tar 
and  feathers?  Hey,  wouldn't  that  be  fine?" 

"But  you  see,  Mr.  Deane,  that's  one  trouble  with  'em," 
answered  Mr.  Robertson,  "every  man  wants  'em  to  pun- 


White  and  Black 

ish  the  things  he  don't  like.  I  have  no  doubt  that  some 
people  here  would  be  glad  for  'em  to  tar  and  feather  all 
the  creditors  of  the  community." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Deane,  somewhat  incensed,  "only 
the  lawless  element,  the  dead-beats  and  the  ne'er-do- 
wells  would  want  that,  and  they  ought  to  be  put  down." 

"But  have  you  ever  thought  of  what  element  in  this 
neck  of  the  woods  would  mainly  compose  the  Ku  Klux 
Klan?" 

"Well,  I  read  that  they  are  going  in  for  Americanism 
pure  and  simple,  for  white  supremacy,  for  the  enforce- 
ment of  laws,  and  for  race  purity.  It  would  seem  to 
me  to  be  a  pretty  good  element  that  would  go  in  for 
them  things." 

"And  their  method  of  procedure  is  by  midnight  masked 
mobs  inflicting  cruel  and  unusual  punishments  without 
due  process  of  law — and  you  are  a  stickler  for  the  Con- 
stitution, Mr.  Deane."  > 

'  "Well,  of  course,  I  don't  approve  of  'em,"  said  Mr. 
Deane,  "but  I  was  just  saying  that  if  we  have  to  have 
'em,  they  might  as  well  tend  to  the  dead-beats  along  with 
the  other  riff-raff  while  they  are  about  it.  Hey,  what 
do  you  think?" 

But  dinner  was  announced.  At  the  table  Mrs.  Robert- 
son was  careful  to  seat  Bob  and  Minnie  on  the  same  side, 
so  placing  Mr.  Deane  and  Minnie  on  either  side  of  Mr. 
Robertson  at  the  head  of  the  table,  and  Mrs.  Deane  and 
Bob  on  either  side  of  herself  at  the  foot.  Her  idea  was 
that  during  the  meal  Mr.  Robertson  and  Mr.  Deane  would 
talk  together  mainly,  Bob  and  Minnie,  and  she  and  Mrs. 
Deane.  But  it  turned  out  differently,  for  the  arrange- 
ment put  Bob  vis-a-vis  with  Mrs.  Deane. 

After  Mr.  Robertson  had  said  grace,  emphasized  by 


156  White  and  Black 

a  hearty  "Amen !"  from  Mr.  Deane,  Mrs.  Deane  began 
an  exploratory  operation  on  Bob,  while  Minnie  feigned 
an  interest  in  the  talk  of  her  father  and  Mr.  Robertson 
on  the  length  of  cotton  staple  and  various  methods  of 
combating  boll-weevils. 

"My!  Bob,  how  smart  they  all  say  you  are!"  began 
Mrs.  Deane,  "and  I  have  never  seen  your  medal." 

"Show  it  to  her,  Bob,"  said  his  mother,  bridling  with 
pleasure. 

"Oh,  Mama!"  protested  Bob. 

"Yes,  indeed,  I  would  like  to  see  it,"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Deane. 

Bob  took  the  medal  out  of  his  pocket  and  handed  it 
across  the  table. 

"My,  how  beautiful!  Why  don't  you  wear  it  on  a 
chain  or  something,  so  that  everybody  can  see  it?" 

"I  don't  know,  'm,"  said  Bob,  "it  sorter  makes  a 
feller  feel  foolish  to  go  around  with  a  shining  medal 
hung  on  him." 

"Jasper,"  she  said  to  her  husband,  "look  at  this.  It 
is  Bob's  scholarship  medal.  Ain't  it  fine?" 

Mr.  Deane  took  it  in  his  hand.  "Yes,"  he  answered, 
"it's  gold.  It  must  have  cost  at  least  ten  dollars.  I 
wonder  how  the  school  board  could  legally  make  an  ap- 
propriation for  that." 

"It  was  bought  and  paid  for  by  the  principal  out  of 
his  own  pocket,"  said  Mr.  Robertson. 

"Oh,  well,  it  may  be  plated  then  and  probably  didn't 
cost  more  than  five." 

Bob  blushed  and  Mrs.  Robertson  was  indignant,  but 
Mrs.  Deane  said,  "It  was  so  smart  of  him,  though,  to 
get  it!" 

"Well,  yes,  I  reckon  so,  but  a  smart  boy  ought  to  be 


White  and  Black  157 

able  to  make  five  dollars  on  buying  and  selling  one 
yearling,"  answered  Mr.  Deane,  giving  the  medal  back  to 
his  wife,  and  resuming  his  talk  with  Mr.  Robertson. 

She  restored  it  to  Bob,  saying,  "Don't  mind  him,  Bob, 
he  just  thinks  that  the  conceit  should  be  taken  out  of 
all  young  people,  and  he  is  teasing  you." 

"Yessum,  I  know  Mr.  Deane,  I  don't  mind  him,"  said 
Bob,  but  hate  welled  up  in  his  heart 

"And  does  a  boy  who  studies  so  much  have  time  to 
interest  himself  in  the  farming?"  she  asked. 

"Well,  he  has  some  cattle  of  his  own  in  the  big  pas- 
ture," answered  Mrs.  Robertson,  "and  he  has  always 
looked  after  them  carefully,  especially  of  late." 

"And  the  big  pasture  is  along  the  creek  on  the  other 
side  of  the  railroad  track,  ain't  it?" 

"Yessum,"  answered  Bob,  wondering  why  she  asked, 
and  with  alarm  in  his  eyes. 

"We  went  over  there  dew-berry  hunting  one  time," 
she  said,  "and  who  was  it  working  in  the  field  over  on 
that  side  ?  I  remember  we  got  thirsty  and  some  of  them 
brought  us  a  bucket  of  water.  I  believe  it  was  one 
of  John  Ramsey's  girls,  but  I  am  not  sure." 

"Most  likely  it  was,"  said  Mrs.  Robertson,  "his  field 
is  over  there." 

"He  is  pretty  trifling,  ain't  he?" 

"He  is  the  triflingest  one  of  our  tenants,"  answered 
Mrs.  Robertson. 

"But  sometimes  a  trifling  nigger  can  make  his  children 
work  well,  though  I  seem  to  recollect  that  his  children 
are  all  girls,  so  I  suppose  they  don't  do  much." 

"He  has  some  boys,"  said  Bob,  anxious  to  divert  the 
conversation,  if  only  a  little  way. 

"But  the  boys  are  too  small  to  do  much,"  said  Mrs. 


158  White  and  Black 

Robertson,  "and  I  am  afraid  the  girls  are  not  very  good 
workers,  either.  I  have  been  trying  to  get  Will  to  turn 
John  off  with  his  whole  crew,  but  he  sorter  hates  to 
do  it." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Robertson  is  mighty  soft-hearted,"  said 
Mrs.  Deane,  "but  my  motto  is  that  the  bad  man  always 
finds  work  for  idle  hands  to  do  and  that  it  is  better  to 
get  rid  of  them  before  evil  communications  corrupt  good 
manners." 

"Oh,  I  don't  suppose  they  do  any  real  harm  to  any- 
body else  on  the  place,"  said  Mrs.  Robertson.  "The 
only  thing  is  that  John  is  always  coming  out  behind,  so 
we  lose  money  on  him  nearly  every  year." 

"Well,  there  ain't  any  telling,"  answered  Mrs.  Deane, 
and  she  shot  a  glance  at  Bob  that  he  couldn't  meet.  He 
blushed,  dropped  his  eyes  to  his  plate,  and  pretended  to 
be  very  busy  eating. 

But  Mrs.  Deane  went  on,  "Do  you  tend  to  your  cat- 
tle all  by  yourself,  Bob?  My  boys  say  it  is  a  hard  job 
for  one  man,  so  they  always  go  together." 

"Oh,  it's  not  so  much  to  rope  a  steer  and  throw  him," 
said  Bob.  "I  don't  need  any  help." 

"Yes,  Bob  is  right  skilful  that  way,"  said  Mrs.  Rob- 
ertson with  pride. 

"But  it  seems  to  me  you  would  get  lonesome  over  there 
in  the  pasture  by  yourself,"  said  Mrs.  Deane. 

"No'm,  I  don't  ever  think  about  that,"  answered  Bob. 

"If  you  should,  I  suppose  you  could  get  some  of 
John's  folks  to  help  you,  they  are  so  convenient  there." 

Bob  was  thoroughly  frightened.  It  seemed  to  him  that 
the  questions  were  very  persistent  and  pointed,  and  Mrs. 
Robertson  began  to  think,  "I  wonder  what  she  is  driv- 
ing at?" 


White  and  Black  159 

Bob  merely  repeated,  "No'm,  I  don't  need  any  help." 

"Oh,  I  was  just  thinking  that  idle  niggers  wander 
around  so,  that  probably  some  of  them  would  be  over 
in  the  pasture  most  of  the  time,"  said  Mrs.  Deane,  and 
that  bolt  penetrated  even  Mrs.  Robertson's  complacence. 

"John's  folks  wander  towards  town,  I  think,  not 
towards  the  pasture,"  she  said. 

"Yessum,  you  can  see  some  of  them  going  to  town 
nearly  every  day,"  said  Bob  eagerly,  too  eagerly  to  es- 
cape the  wisdom  of  eyes  that  had  had  fifty-five  years  of 
experience. 

"That's  it,  that's  where  the  trouble  lies,  that's  what 
is  hurting  his  conscience,"  reflected  Mrs.  Deane  to  her- 
self, but  aloud  she  said,  "Mr.  Will,  don't  you  think  it  is 
a  perfect  shame  the  prices  the  merchants  are  charging 
these  days?"  But  she  quickly  returned  her  glance  to 
Bob,  to  watch  his  face  for  an  expected  expression  of 
relief,  and  her  expectation  was  gratified. 

"Yes,  I  don't  see  that  the  high  cost  of  living  has  come 
down  very  much  except  in  the  price  of  what  we  farmers 
produce,"  said  Mr.  Robertson. 

This  was  one  of  Mr.  Deane's  favorite  topics,  so  he 
interposed,  "Yes,  look  at  shoes.  During  the  War  the 
merchants  said  the  price  of  hides  was  so  high  and  that 
was  the  reason  they  had  to  charge  so  much  for  shoes. 
Now  you  can't  get  anything  at  all  for  hides,  and  they 
say  the  amount  of  leather  that  goes  into  a  pair  of  shoes 
don't  make  much  difference  anyway,  that  it's  labor  and 
overhead  expense  and  anything  and  everything.  I  wish 
the  Ku  Klux  would  get  some  of  these  infernal  profiteers, 
that's  what  I  wish,"  and  he  brought  his  fist  down  on  the 
table  with  a  bang. 

The  talk  became  general  among  the  older  people,  and 


160  White  and  Black 

remained  so.  Minnie  cast  a  furtive  glance  or  two  at 
Bob,  but  found  no  response.  Once,  as  if  by  accident, 
she  touched  his  hand,  but  he  quickly  drew  it  away.  It 
seemed  to  him  that  the  dinner  would  never  come  to  an 
end,  and  he  wished  the  earth  would  open  up  and  swallow 
Mrs.  Deane  then  and  there,  or,  at  least,  before  she 
could  get  a  chance  to  talk  privately  to  Minnie  or  his 
mother.  The  very  thought  of  her  talking  to  his  mother 
rilled  him  with  horror,  which  was  mixed  with  wonder 
as  to  how  she  had  happened  to  hit  on  the  pasture  and 
John  Ramsey's  family  as  subjects  to  examine  him  about. 
And  what  did  she  know,  and  how  did  she  find  it  out? 
It  all  seemed  very  mysterious  to  him.  He  did  not  know 
that  his  confidences  to  Minnie  had  been  related  to  her 
mother,  and  that  those  confidences  coupled  with  the 
general  reputation  of  John  Ramsey's  girls  and  the  geog- 
raphy of  the  farm  had  been  enough  very  naturally 
and  simply  to  point  out  the  road  for  Mrs.  Deane's  sus- 
picion. 

As  they  rose  from  the  table,  Mr.  Deane  was  saying, 
"No,  Will,  your  theory  is  wrong.  A  nigger  ought  al- 
ways be  made  to  pay  every  cent  he  owes  you,  even  if 
you  have  to  take  his  team  and  tools  and  then  sell  'era 
back  to  him.  It's  a  lesson  in  morals  to  'em.  If  they  all 
knew  they  always  had  to  pay  all  they  owed,  then  they 
wouldn't  be  so  reckless  about  running  into  debt.  You 
forgive  'em  something  at  the  end  of  one  year,  and  then 
they  want  you  to  forgive  'em  more  at  the  end  of  the 
next.  I  make  mine  pay  me  if  it  takes  the  last  thing 
they've  got.  They  don't  beat  me  out  of  much." 

"No,  nobody  can  beat  you  out  of  much,  Mr.  Deane," 
answered  Mr.  Robertson,  who  was  tired  of  the  discus- 
sion. 


White  and  Black  161 

"That  they  can't,  and  I  am  proud  of  it,"  said  Mr. 
Deane. 

"But  some  day  before  long  some  nice  looking  young 
feller  will  be  beating  you  out  of  Minnie,"  said  Mrs.  Rob- 
ertson, smiling,  as  they  took  their  seats  in  the  sitting- 
room. 

"Well,  it  won't  be  any  young  feller  that's  not  a  good 
worker.  I  can  tell  you  that,"  said  Mr.  Deane. 

"To  hear  him  talk,  you'd  think  Papa  worked  all  of 
the  time,"  said  Minnie. 

"No,  but  when  I  was  young,  I  worked  from  daylight 
to  dark  every  day,  and  many  a  day  long  after  dark.  And 
I  believe  in  young  men  working  and  saving,"  he  replied 
with  emphasis,  "I  worked  and  saved." 

"And  what's  even  more  important  still,"  said  Mrs. 
Deane,  "is  that  a  young  man  must  be  upright  and  good 
and  pure." 

"Well,  working  and  saving  will  come  mighty  near  to 
making  him  all  of  that,"  answered  her  husband. 

The  Deanes  didn't  stay  very  long  after  dinner.  About 
three  o'clock  Mrs.  Deane  said  they  had  to  go,  so  Bob 
drove  back  with  them  in  the  car  to  Compton. 

After  they  had  left,  Mr.  Robertson  said,  "Mamie,  some- 
how or  other  it  don't  seem  to  me  that  Mrs.  Deane  was 
pleased  with  her  visit." 

"No,  and  she  seemed  to  have  some  sort  of  spite  against 
Bob.  It  looked  as  if  she  thought  he  wasn't  good  enough 
for  Minnie.  I  never  heard  such  an  examination  as  she 
fired  at  him  at  the  dinner  table." 

"What  about?" 

"Oh,  about  his  work  and  his  cattle  and  the  pasture  and 
who  helped  him.  And  she  kept  on  talking  about  John 
Ramsey  and  his  girls,  as  if  Bob  had  any  interest  in  them." 


162  White  and  Black 

"Oh,  she  did,  did  she?"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  thought- 
fully. And  then  hastening  to  hide  his  concern,  he  added, 
"And  Mr.  Deane  was  throwing  out  hints  about  young 
men  working,  too — as  if  Bob  were  some  idl'e  loafer!" 

"I  don't  like  it,  my  boy  is  good  enough  for  anybody  in 
the  world!  If  her  boys  were  one  thousandth  part  as 
good !"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Robertson,  bursting  into  tears. 

Mr.  Robertson  soothed  her  with  reassuring  words  and 
affectionate  caresses,  but  he  kept  asking  himself,  "What 
have  they  got  against  Bob?"  And  the  suspicion  that  had 
so  greatly  troubled  him  the  night  before  flared  up  again. 

Bob  on  his  way  to  Compton  with  the  Deanes  was  taci- 
turn, hardly  saying  a  word  during  the  short  drive.  On 
his  way  back  his  reflections  took  a  definite  shape,  "I  wish 
I  had  never  got  mixed  up  in  this  thing.  It  has  given  me 
a  lot  of  trouble  already  and  it  is  likely  to  give  me  still 
more.  And  it  may  give  Mama  a  lot  of  trouble,  and  Papa 
too.  And  what  am  I  going  to  do  about  Minnie?  And 
that  old  cat  of  a  Mrs.  Deane,  she  knows  something.  Well, 
I've  got  to  stay  away  from  that  pasture.  That's  all  there 
is  to  that.  No,  I've  got  to  stay  away!  Oh,  I  wish  I 
hadn't  been  such  a  fool !  At  Sunday  school  I  have  to  be 
such  a  hypocrite!  Oh,  and  next  Sunday  is  Sacrament 
day  at  the  church.  I  wonder  how  I  am  going  to  get  out 
of  taking  the  Sacrament.  Oh,  I  don't  know  what  to  do !" 

But  something  opposed  began  to  whisper  to  him,  and 
the  whisper  aroused  in  him  again  a  curious  sense  of  joy, 
a  feeling  as  it  were  of  exultation  in  his  masculinity. 


CHAPTER  XX 

• 

THURSDAY  morning  at  breakfast  Mr.  Robertson  said, 
"Bob,  I  am  going  to  the  lower  place  this  morning.  They 
started  the  hay-making  down  there  Monday,  and  I  want 
to  see  how  they  are  getting  on.  Do  you  want  to  go  with 
me  or  over  to  the  big  pasture?" 

"I  don't  think  there  is  any  special  need  of  going  to 
the  pasture,"  said  Bob,  steadily,  "and  I  would  like  to  go 
with  you." 

Mr.  Robertson  was  pleased  and  said  cheerily,  "All 
right,  tell  Cyrus  to  saddle  up  the  horses.  And,  Mamie, 
let  Cyrus  go  to  town  for  the  mail.  I  am  expecting  an 
important  letter  from  Green  &  Porter." 

"Are  you  still  thinking  about  accepting  the  position  they 
offer  you,  Will?"  asked  Mrs.  Robertson. 

"Oh,  not  very  definitely.  I  merely  wrote  them  for 
further  particulars." 

"Why  wouldn't  it  be  a  good  idea,  Papa,  to  put  up  a 
rural  free  delivery  box  by  the  big  gate?  It  would  save 
a  lot  of  going  to  town  for  the  mail,"  said  Bob. 

"I  don't  like  to  have  to  wait  for  the  carrier,"  answered 
his  father,  "and  then  he  might  lose  some  of  the  letters. 
I  have  to  go  to  town  nearly  every  day,  anyhow.  But 
really  I  suppose  it  would  be  more  sensible  to  have  a  box 
out  there.  John  Ramsey  has  one,"  and  he  smiled  quiz- 
zically. 

"Well,  I  didn't  mean  for  you  to  copy  after  John  Ram- 
sey," said  Bob,  blushing,  "but  I  was  just  thinking — " 

"All  the  niggers  and  poor  white  trash  in  the  country 

163 


164  White  and  Black 

have  boxes,  and  indeed  nearly  everybody  else,  and  you 
are  right,  son,  but  I  suppose  the  real  reason  is  that  I 
have  just  grown  up  going  to  the  post-office  and  keep  on 
doing  it." 

Sim  Senter's  house  was  near  the  southeast  corner  of 
the  lower  place,  Madison  Mulberry's  was  near  the  south- 
west corner  and  not  far  from  the  creek  bottom.  Through 
the  middle  of  the  place  and  about  equally  distant  from 
each  of  the  two  houses  ran  a  farm  road  to  the  hay-field 
at  the  north  end  of  the  place.  At  one  spot  by  the  side  of 
this  road  was  a  dense  thicket  of  plum  trees,  and  just 
across  the  road  from  that  was  a  patch  of  fifteen  or  twenty 
acres  of  second-growth  pine  timber  with  a  thick  under- 
growth of  brambles,  wild  grape  vines  and  black  jack 
saplings,  which  had  been  allowed  to  grow  undisturbed 
because  the  ground  there  was  so  cut  up  with  large  gullies 
as  to  be  untillable. 

Mr.  Robertson  and  Bob  entered  upon  the  place  at  the 
gate  near  Madison  Mulberry's  house,  went  through 
Madison's  crop,  and  turned  into  the  road  at  a  point  near 
the  thicket.  As  they  were  passing  between  the  thicket 
and  the  patch  of  timber,  Saladin  shied  so  suddenly  as 
to  come  near  unseating  Bob,  "My!"  he  said,  "this  is 
a  dense  place  in  here.  I  wonder  what  Saladin  thinks 
he  saw." 

"Probably  a  'possum  or  a  rabbit,"  answered  Mr.  Rob- 
ertson, "or  some  sort  of  varmint  moving  about.  I  think 
I'll  have  this  brush  cleared  away  next  winter.  I  don't 
know  as  it  does  any  harm,  but  it  don't  look  good." 

"Well,  anyhow,  it  makes  a  sort  of  cool  spot  now,"  said 
Bob. 


White  and  Black  165 

Soon  they  came  to  the  hay  field  where  they  found  the 
gang  just  beginning  the  day's  work. 

"Well,  Sim,  you  seem  to  have  gotten  most  of  the  men 
on  the  place,"  said  Mr.  Robertson. 

"Yaas,"  answered  Sim  Senter,  "my  two  boys,  Sam 
Stallins'  four,  Jim  Birdsall,  Hez  Monroe,  and  Tom  Tal- 
ley,  nine  in  all.  That's  as  many  as  I  need  to  run  two 
mowers  and  the  press  and  do  the  rakin'.  Of  course  I 
didn't  say  nuthin'  to  Madison  Mulberry  or  his  boy  Lys 
about  comin'." 

"No,  that  would  hardly  have  done,"  said  Mr.  Robert- 
son. 

"We're  gittin'  a  sorter  late  start,  but  the  dew  was  so 
heavy  this  mawnin'." 

"Well,  it  is  better  to  wait  and  not  cut  the  grass  while 
it's  wet." 

"Yaas,  that's  what  I  thought,  but,  Mr.  Will,  I  want  you 
to  run  that  Lys  off  the  place.  He  ain't  done  a  thing 
except  lay  around  ever  since  he's  been  back.  And  he's 
been  runnin'  me  down  to  the  niggers  and  stirrin'  'em 
up  about  the  low  wages  paid  on  the  farm,  and  jes'  playin' 
the  big  Ike  gen'r'lly." 

"Has   he   been  giving  you   any   special  trouble?" 

"Well,  not  to  say  exactly,  but  Susie  has  been  bringin' 
our  dinner  to  me  and  the  boys  in  the  buggy,  to  save  time, 
an*  yestiddy  she  says  she  seen  Lys  in  the  brush  down 
there  by  the  plum  thicket,  an'  he  wuz  a-watchin'  her. 
Whut  wuz  he  doing  there?  I  don't  think  he  wuz  up  to 
any  good.  Harry  wanted  to  go  right  over  and  jump 
on  him  but  I  said,  no,  we'd  better  not  have  any  rucus." 

"That's  right,"  answered  Mr.  Robertson,  "I'll  tell  Madi- 
son to  make  him  light  out." 


1 66  White  and  Black 

"Maybe  you'd  better  see  him  yourself,  Mr.  Will." 

"All  right,  I  will  if  I  can  find  him." 

In  the  meantime  Bob  had  ridden  to  where  the  Senter 
boys  were,  Harry  on  a  mowing  machine  and  Jim  on  a 
hay  rake.  "Hello,  Jim!  Hello,  Harry !"  he  said. 

"Hello,  Bob,"  they  answered. 

"You've  got  plumb  well,  haven't  you,  Jim?" 

"Jest  about,"  Jim  answered. 

"How  you  comin',  Harry?" 

"Fine  and  dandy." 

"Well,  what's  up?" 

"Nuthin'  much,"  answered  Harry,  "cept  I'm  layin' 
off  to  beat  hell  out  of.  that  Lys  Mulberry  as  soon  as  I  kin 
git  time.  Me  an'  Jim's  goin'  to  ketch  him  some  day  and 
strop  him  till  he  can't  set  down.  Don't  you  want  to  git 
in  on  it?" 

Bob  recognized  this  as  a  mark  of  great  friendship  on 
Harry's  part,  so  he  asked,  "When  do  you  expect  to  get 
to  it?" 

"If  you  wuz  to  happen  over  hyeer  'bout  next  Sunday 
evenin'  you  wouldn't  be  fur  wrong,"  answered  Harry. 

"All  right,  I'll  be  here,  if  I  can  get  off,"  answered  Bob, 
"and  I  reckon  I  can." 

"Good  boy!"  said  Harry,  "come  right  after  dinner. 
But  I've  got  to  cut  this  grass.  Gee!  come  up  there!" 
And  the  rattle  of  the  mowing-machine  began  to  shrill 
above  the  sound  of  bird  and  insect,  and  drowned  the 
murmur  of  human  voices  in  the  field.  Bob  sat  on  Saladin 
and  watched  the  grass  fall  in  an  even  swath  as  the  ma- 
chine moved  along.  He  was  in  now  for  helping  to  beat 
Ulysses  Mulberry  and  consequently  for  very  probable 
trouble  with  the  folks  at  home,  but  he  felt  that  Ulysses 
certainly  deserved  a  beating,  and  he  was  elated  over 


White  and  Black  167 

Harry's  attitude  of  respect.  He  felt  that  he  had  proved 
himself,  that  he  was  now  accounted  worthy  of  a  share 
in  an  enterprise  that  required  both  strength  and  valor, 
and  his  heart  swelled  with  pride. 

His  reflections  were  interrupted  by  Jim's  saying,  "We'll 
give  him  sich  a  beatin'  that  he  won't  want  to  stay  'round 
hyeer  no  mo'." 

"You  bet,  we'll  tan  his  hide  good  and  proper,"  an- 
swered Bob. 

With  a  grin  of  anticipatory  delight  Jim  whipped  up 
the  mule  hitched  to  the  hay-rake  and  began  his  labor  of 
the  day. 

Mr.  Robertson  came  riding  down  the  field  and  joined 
Bob.  "We've  got  to  go  over  to  Madison  Mulberry's," 
he  said. 

"What  for,  Papa?"  asked  Bob. 

"Well,  I'm  afraid  Lys  will  cause  some  trouble,  and  I'm 
going  to  make  Madison  run  him  off  the  place." 

"Oh,  we're — "  Bob  began  without  thinking,  then  he 
recovered  himself  and  said,  "He  ought  to  have  a  good 
beating  before  he  is  run  off." 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Robertson, _"the  only  thing  necessary- 
is  to  get  rid  of  him.  But  what  were  you  going  to  say?" 

"Nothing  much,  I  wasn't  thinking, — oh,  we  are  not 
going  to  spend  the  day  over  here,  then?" 

"No,  I'd  like  to  get  back  home  before  dinner  and 
see  the  mail.  I  may  want  to  answer  a  letter  this  evening." 

"How  would  it  do  for  me  to  stay?"  asked  Bob.  "I 
could  eat  dinner  with  the  Senters." 

"So  you  and  Harry  have  arrived  at  an  understanding," 
said  Mr.  Robertson,  laughing,  "the  former  foes  have 
buried  the  hatchet  and  maybe  concluded  an  offensive  and 
defensive  alliance." 


168  White  and  Black 

"Something  like  that,  I  reckon,"  said  Bob  shamefacedly. 

"That'll  be  all  right,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  "and  you'd 
better  run  the  mowing  machine  for  him  a  while  this  eve- 
ning. I  want  you  to  see  what  it's  like." 

"All  right,"  answered  Bob,  "I'll  be  glad  to." 

"Well,  come  on  now,  and  we'll  see  Madison,  and  then 
you  can  come  back." 

They  found  Madison  working  in  his  field.  "Good 
morning,  Madison,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  "where  is 
Ulysses." 

"He  said  he  wuz  goin'  to  town,"  answered  Madison, 
shortly. 

"I  didn't  ask  you  where  he  said  he  was  going.  I  want 
to  know  where  he  is." 

"I  reckon  he's  in  town,  Mr.  Will." 

"Don't  you  know  where  he  is  ?" 

"Naw,  suh,  I  ain't  seed  him  sence  soon  dis  mawnin'." 

"I  told  you  to  make  him  help  you  work  or  to  drive 
him  off  the  place." 

"He's  been  a-he'pin'  me." 

"You're  a  liar,  he  hasn't." 

"Whut's  dat  Sim  Senter  been  a-tellin'  you,  Mr.  Will?" 

"Never  mind  what  he's  been  telling  me.  I  want  to 
see  Lys.  He  has  got  to  get  off  this  place." 

"He  say  he's  gwine  Sad'day." 

"Where's  he  going  to?" 

"He's  gwine  back  to  de  City.  He  say  he  can't  fool 
'long  wid  no  farmin'.  Dey  ain't  enough  money  in  it." 

"Well,  I'll  hold  you  responsible  for  him  and  his  con- 
duct till  Saturday  then.  And  if  he  doesn't  leave  here 
bright  and  early  Saturday  morning,  back  into  jail  you  go." 

"He  say  he's  gwine  to  leave  Sad'day,"  Madison  repeated 
sullenly. 


White  and  Black  169 

"Well,  see  that  he  does,"  answered  Mr.  Robertson,  but 
as  he  and  Bob  rode  away,  he  felt  that  he  had  again 
clashed  with  a  will  stronger  than  his  own.  And  Bob,  too, 
was  conscious  of  an  uneasy  feeling  of  dissatisfaction. 
They  rode  together  a  hundred  yards  or  so.  Then  Mr. 
Robertson  turned  his  horse  toward  home,  and  Bob  headed 
for  the  hayfield. 

"So  long,  Bob,  get  home  before  dark." 

"All  right,  Papa."    And  each  went  his  way. 

At  noon  Susie  Senter  brought  dinner  to  the  field.  She 
came  in  a  decrepit  buggy  drawn  by  a  patient  old  gray 
mule.  The  dinner,  over  which  a  white  cloth  had  been 
spread,  was  on  a  large  waiter,  which  she  carried  on  her 
lap,  to  lessen  the  jolting.  She  had  to  drive  holding  her 
arms  up  and  elbows  akimbo.  Bob  laughed  at  her  comical 
appearance,  as  she  drove  up  under  the  shade  of  the  oak 
tree  where  Sim  and  his  boys  and  Bob  were  waiting  The 
Negro  hands  in  a  group  were  eating  their  lunches  a  little 
further  down  the  field.  "Hello,  Susie,"  Bob  said,  "you 
look  like  you're  gettin'  ready  to  fly." 

"Lawd,  Bob,"  she  answered,  "I  didn't  know  you  wuz 
out  hyeer.  I'm  a  perfect  sight  with  this  old  dress  on.  It 
ain't  nuthin'  but  rags,  and  it's- a  mile  too  short." 

"I  wasn't  thinking  about  that,"  said  Bob,  "I  was  lookin' 
at  your  elbows." 

"Well,  how's  anybody  goin'  to  drive  with  they  lap 
full  of  dinner  if  they  don't  hold  up  they  elbows?  And 
this  ole  mule  is  so  slow  and  I  can't  whup  him  without 
spillin'  the  dinner,  so  I  have  to  come  at  a  creep." 

"Well,  Susie,  have  you  et?"  asked  Sim,  lifting  a  keg 
of  fresh  water  out  of  the  back  of  the  buggy. 

"Yes,  I  had  a  snack  with  Ma  and  the  chillun,"  said 
Susie.  She  reached  into  the  pocket  of  her  dress,  pulled 


'17°  White  and  Black 

out  a  snuff-box  and  a  brush  made  by  chewing  the  end  of 
a  black-gum  twig,  dipped  the  brush  into  the  snuff,  and 
stuck  it  into  her  mouth  with  an  air  of  complacency. 

Sim  looked  at  her  and  then  at  Bob,  and  said,  "She's 
mighty  young,  I  think,  to  begin  dippin',  but  then  she's 
past  fifteen,  and  she's  gittin'  to  think  she's  mighty  nigh 
grown." 

"Yes,"  said  Bob,  embarrassed,  "I  expect  she'll  be  getting 
beaux  in  her  head  pretty  soon." 

"She's  got  'em  there  now,"  said  Jim. 

"You  bet  she  has,"  chuckled  Harry. 

"Oh,  shet  up,"  answered  Susie  with  a  toss  of  her 
head. 

"Did  you  see  anybody  when  you  wuz  comin'  'long  the 
road?"  asked  Sim. 

"Nary  a  soul,"  said  Susie.  "I  wuz  keepin'  a  look-out, 
but  I  didn't  see  nobody." 

"Who  did  you  expect  to  see?"  asked  Bob. 

"Well,  them  Mulberry  niggers  have  been  hangin' 
around,"  answered  Sim. 

"Oh,  Papa  told  Madison  that  he  had  to  run  Lys  off 
the  place,"  said  Bob.  "And  Madison  said  Lys  was  goin* 
to  leave  Saturday  morning." 

Harry  winked  at  Bob,  "Well,  he'd  better  get  away. 
That's  all  I  got  to  say." 

"Hunh!  You're  rhymin'  this  mawnin',"  said  Susie 
with  a  titter. 

"Well,  rhymin'  ain't  all  I'm  goin'  to  be  doin'  mighty 
soon,"  said  Harry. 

"Now  look'ee  hyeer,  Harry,"  said  Sim,  "keep  yo'  hands 
off  of  that  nigger  till  after  Sad'day  anyway." 

"All  right,  I'll  give  him  till  Sad'day,"  said  Harry,  "but 


White  and  Black 

after  that  he'd  better  look  out  for  a  surprise  party,  eh, 
Bob?" 

"Now,  don't  you  go  to  draggin'  Bob  into  nuthin',"  said 
Sim. 

"Oh,  he  ain't  draggin'  me,"  said  Bob.  "Don't  worry 
about  me." 

"Well,  I  wouldn't  never  git  over  it,"  said  Sim,  "if  he 
wuz  to  git  you  into  trouble." 

"Mrs.  Senter  is  sho'  a  prime  hand  at  frying  chicken," 
said  Bob. 

"Yaas,  this  does  taste  pretty  good,  don't  it?"  answered 
Sim. 

"You  bet  it  does,  and  this  corn-bread  is  hard  to  beat." 

"Gim'me  flour  bread  for  mine,"  said  Jim,  "cawn-bread 
scratches  my  th'oat." 

"Waal,  if  we've  got  enough,"  said  Sim,  when  the  others 
had  stopped  eating,  "Susie  kin  take  the  things  back,  and 
then  we'll  rest  up  a  little  while,  and  afterward  we'll  intro- 
duce Bob  to  Mister  Mowin'  Machine." 

"Oh,  is  Bob  goin'  to  mow  some  ?"  asked  Susie.  "Lem'- 
me  stay  and  see  him  start  off,  Papa." 

"All  right,  if  Bob  don't  keer,"  answered  Sim. 

"I  don't  care,"  said  Bob,  "but  I  reckon  you'll  get  the 
laugh  back  on  me,  Susie,  when"  I  first  start  off." 

"Shucks!"  said  Harry.  "Anybody  kin  run  a  mowin'- 
machine." 

"But  I  bet  Bob  gits  tangled  up  at  fust,"  said  Jim. 

"Anyway  I'd  like  to  see  him  make  a  start-off,"  said 
Susie. 

After  half  an  hour  of  rest,  Sim,  followed  by  the  three 
boys,  and  leaving  Susie  in  the  buggy,  -took  the  keg  of 
water  and  carried  it  to  where  the  Negroes  were  sprawl- 


172  White  and  Black 

ing  in  the  shade  of  a  hackberry.  "Come  on,"  he  said 
to  them,  "git  a  drink  of  fresh  water,  and  less  hit  the 
grit" 

They  gathered  around,  laughing  and  joking  each  other. 
Bill,  a  man  of  fifty  and  Uncle  Sam's  oldest  son,  put  the 
keg  of  water  to  his  lips  and  drank  thirstily.  "Lawd," 
said  Jim  Birdsall,  "dat  nigger's  legs  is  holler." 

"Dey  sho'  is,"  said  Tom  Talley,  "if  you  wuz  to  stick 
a  pin  in  his  big  toe,  a  stream  of  water  would  come  spout- 
in'  out." 

"Dey  sho'  would,  haw,  haw,  haw !"  guffawed  Hez  Mon- 
roe, and  the  others  joined  in  the  laughter  delightedly,  as  at 
a  display  of  great  wit. 

"Nemmine,"  said  Bill,  setting  the  keg  down  at  last, 
"holler  legs  is  better'n  a  holler  head  any  time." 

"But  de  wust  of  all  is  a  holler  belly,"  said  Hez. 

"Now,  nigger,  you  sho'  'is  a-talkin' !"  exclaimed  Tom 
Talley,  at  which  there  was  general  and  vociferous  laugh- 
ter. 

"When  mine  gits  holler,  it  sho'  do  holler  out  loud 
to  me,"  said  Bill. 

"Whut  do  it  say,  Bill?"  asked  Jim  Birdsall. 

**It  say,  nigger,  whar  is  dat  hog-meat,  whar  is  dem 
collards?  It  say  nunck-unh,  nigger,  dis  ain't  gwine  to 
do.  You  got  to  git  up  an'  hustle !" 

"Well,"  said  Sim,  "that's  what  we'll  do  now,  Bill,  you 
better  git  up  on  the  press  this  evenin',  and  Jim  and  Hez 
kin  tie,  an'  Jodie  kin  run  the  bull-rake,  and  little  Sammy 
kin  git  off  the  mowin'  machine  for  an  hour  or  so  an' 
stack  up  them  bales.  Bob  wants  to  try  his  hand  at 
mowin'." 

"Watch  out,  grass,  if  Mr.  Bob's  gwine  to  tackle  you !" 
exclaimed  Jim  Birdsall. 


White  and  Black  173 

"An'  hyeer's  one  nigger's  glad  he  is  gwine  to  be  on 
top  of  de  press,"  said  Bill.  "When  Mr.  Bob  comes  along 
slatter-ratter-klatter,  I  wants  my  toes  out  of  de  way." 

"Oh,  shut  up,"  said  Bob,  "I  bet  I'll  cut  the  grass  all 
right." 

"Well,  boys,  git  to  it,"  said  Sim,  and  they  all  went  to 
their  places. 

Bob  passed  the  test  very  successfully.  Susie  returned 
to  the  house  with  the  dishes.  The  hum  and  clatter  of 
the  hay-making  filled  the  summer  afternoon,  the  jest  and 
laughter  of  the  workers  around  the  press  now  and  again 
rising  for  a  moment  above  the  rattle  of  the  machines, 
soon  to  be  submerged  again  under  their  metallic  clatter. 

Once  little  Sammy,  Uncle  Sam's  youngest,  remarked 
pensively,  "Dem  mowin'  machines  sho'  do  put  me  in  mind 
of  dem  German  machine-guns,  ratty-rat-rat,  and  whar 
is  you,  nigger,  if  you  come  out  of  dat  hole  we'll  find  you." 

"Naw,"  said  Jodie,  his  brother,  "dem  machine-guns 
didn't  say  dat,  dey  wuz  a  sayin'  put-put-put,  put  yo'  foot 
in  yo'  han'  an'  git  out  of  dis  country." 

"Well,  you  put-put-put,  put  the  hay  in  that  press  and 
keep  her  a-goin',"  said  Sim. 

"Ki-yi,"  said  Jim  Birdsall,  who  hadn't  been  to  the  War, 
"dar  you  is !  Hit  de  ball  an  keep  'er  a-rollin'.  We  ain't 
got  no  time  to  talk  about  Germans."  And  he  broke  into 
a  sort  of  chant,  "We  ain't  got  no  time,  we  ain't  got  no 
time.  Oh,  hit  de  ball,  an'  keep  'er  a-rollin',  keep  'er  a- 
rollin'." 

About  four  o'clock  Bob  drove  his  mowing  machine  up 
to  the  press,  and  said,  "Well,  I  expect  I'd  better  be  goin' 
now." 

"All  right,"  said  Sim,  "crawl  up  there,  little  Sammy, 
and  make  'er  hum." 


174  White  and  Black 

Bob  mounted  Saladin  and  started  on  his  way  home, 
thinking,  "I  don't  know  when  I  have  had  a  better  time. 
Farming  is  not  so  bad  after  all.  But  I  wonder  where 
Lys  Mulberry  is.  Wonder  if  we're  goin'  to  get  to  lick 
him." 

But  he  saw  nothing  of  either  Lys  or  Madison  as  he 
passed  near  their  house  to  reach  the  gate.  He  rode  on 
along  the  edge  of  the  bottom  until  he  came  to  the  gate  in 
the  fence  of  the  home  place.  This  gate  was  near  Joe 
Williams's  house,  and  not  far  away  Ella  and  Mariah, 
two  of  Joe's  daughters,  were  hoeing  in  a  sweet  potato 
patch.  Ella  dropped  her  hoe  and  ran  to  open  the  gate 
for  him.  Mariah  stopped  work,  leaned  on  her  hoe  handle, 
and  watched  Ella's  progress,  "Hunh!"  she  said  to  her- 
self, "Ella'd  break  her  neck  any  time  for  Mr.  Bob.  How 
come  he  couldn't  open  dat  gate  for  hisse'f?  He  ain't 
paralyzed." 

"Hello,  Ella,"  said  Bob,  "you  needn't  have  bothered.  I 
could  open  the  gate  all  right." 

"Oh,  I  likes  to  open  a  gate  for  you,  Mr.  Bob,"  she 
answered. 

She  looked  at  him  with  such  admiration  that  Bob  was 
embarrassed.  "Well,"  he  replied,  "I'm  sorry  I  haven't 
got  any  change  in  my  pocket." 

"Oh,  you  know  good  and  well,  Mr.  Bob,  I  don't  want 
nuthin'  for  openin'  a  gate.  But  if  you  got  dat  medal  wid 
you,  I'd  sho'  like  to  see  dat  agin." 

"All  right,"  said  Bob,  pulling  it  out  of  his  pocket,  "here 
it  is." 

"Dat  sho'  is  a  pretty  medal,"  exclaimed  Ella.  "An' 
jes'  think,  if  dey  had  ha'  had  one  at  de  cullud  school  dis 
year  I'd  've  got  it.  And  if  dey  have  one  next  year,  I 
bet  I'll  git  it." 


White  and  Black  175 

"Is  that  so?"  replied  Bob.  "Well,  I'll  tell  you  what 
I'll  do,  I'll  try  to  get  Papa  to  offer  a  medal  for  the  best 
scholar  in  the  colored  school  next  year." 

"He'll  do  it,"  said  Ella,  "if  you  speak  to  him  about 
it.  I'm  sho'  he'll  do  it." 

"I  expect  he  will,"  said  Bob.  "I  think  I  heard  him  say 
something  about  offering  some  kind  of  prize,  but  it 
seems  to  me  it  was  a  pig  or  a  calf." 

"Tell  him  to  be  sho'  an'  make  it  a  medal,"  said  Ella. 
"But,  Mr.  Bob,  is  you  goin'  to  take  a  nap  by  de  spring 
dis  evenin'?" 

"Did  you  come  that  other  time  while  I  was  asleep?" 
asked  Bob. 

"Unh-hunh !"  answered  Ella,  "I  tiptoed  by  and  didn't 
wake  you  up,  though.  But  you  don't  never  come  round 
de  spring  much,  now,  do  you,  Mr.  Bob?" 

"No,  I  haven't  got  any  business  at  the  spring." 

"But  it's  a  mighty  nice,  cool  plr  ~e  in  dis  hot  weather," 
said  Ella. 

"Yes,  so  it  is,"  answered  Bob. 

"Ella!  Ella!"  came  Malviny's  voice  from  the  house, 
"Come  hyeer  dis  minute.  I  want  you  to  go  atter  some 
water." 

Ella  handed  the  medal  back  and  hurried  to  the  house. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

AT  ten  o'clock  Friday  night  Mr.  Robertson  was  in  the 
sitting-room  reading  David  Copperfield.  Mrs.  Robertson 
was  gone  to  bed.  Although  she  and  her  husband  read 
many  books  aloud  together,  she  didn't  like  Dickens,  and 
moreover  was  tired  from  a  hot  day's  work  of  preserving 
peaches  for  the  winter.  Mr.  Robertson  and  Bob  had 
spent  the  afternoon  in  the  big  pasture  together,  doctoring 
their  prize  bull.  The  screw  worms  had  got  him  this 
time,  and  he  was  hard  to  handle,  so  Bob,  worn  out,  had 
also  retired  early.  Mr.  Robertson  had  seen  nothing  sus- 
picious in  the  big  pasture,  so  his  mind  was  at  rest  as  he 
read  for  the  fourth  or  fifth  time  his  favorite  book. 

"Mr.  Will !  Mr.  Will !"  came  a  raucous  whisper  from 
the  front  porch. 

He  looked  up  from  the  book,  and  saw  against  the  wire 
screen  of  the  raised  window  glistening  teeth  and 
shining  eyes. 

"Who  is  that?"  he  asked  not  loudly. 

"It's  me.  It's  Cyrus,  Mr.  Will,"  came  in  a  voice  low, 
but  wildly  excited. 

"What's  the  matter,  Cyrus?" 

"Fo*  Gaad's  sake,  come  out  hyeer,  Mr.  Will.  Come 
quick." 

There  was  such  fright  in  the  tone  that  Mr.  Robertson 
jumped  from  his  seat  and  rushed  swiftly  to  the  porch. 

"Sh!  Mr.  Will,  don't  make  no  fuss,"  said  Cyrus. 
"Come  on,  come  quick."  And  Cyrus  led  the  way  stealth- 
ily down  the  steps  and  around  the  house  toward  the  rear. 

176 


White  and  Black  177 

Mr.  Robertson  followed  him  in  alarmed  and  silent 
amazement  for  many  paces,  but  then  he  asked,  "Cyrus, 
what  on  earth  is  the  matter?" 

"Come  on,  Mr.  Will,  he's  out  hyeer.  He's  in  de  horse- 
lot,  an'  he's  like  a  wild  man,  Mr.  Will.  He's  like  a  wild 
man !" 

"Who  ?    In  the  name  of  God,  who,  Cyrus  ?" 

"He  say  he  got  to  see  you,  he  got  to  see  you  right  now." 

"But  who  is  it?" 

"Hush,  Mr.  Will,  not  so  loud.  Don't  make  no  noise, 
Mr.  Will." 

"But  who  is  it?"  Mr.  Robertson  asked  again. 

"Hush,  Mr.  Will,  it's  Madison." 

"Why  didn't  you  tell  me  so  I  could  get  my  gun?" 

"Oh,  Mr.  Will,  you  don't  need  no  gun.  Dey  is  atter 
him  now.  Oh,  he  say  can't  nobody  but  you  save  him, 
Mr.  Will.  I  tell  you  he's  like  a  wild  man." 

"Who's  after  him  ?"  asked  Mr.  Robertson. 

"All  of  'em,  all  of  'em,  Mr.  Will,  all  of  'em  dat  ain't 
after  Lys." 

"What  are  they  after  him  for?" 

"Ax  him,  Mr.  Will,  he'll  tell  you.  I  don't  know  nuthin* 
about  it,  Mr.  Will.  I  don't  know  nuthin'  about  it.  I 
ain't  got  nuthin'  to  do  wid  it." 

They  came  to  the  horse-lot.  There  emerged  from  the 
shadow  of  the  bam  an  indistinct  figure.  It  came  swiftly 
toward  them,  threw  itself  on  the  ground  at  Mr.  Robert- 
son's feet,  caught  hold  of  them  with  its  hands,  and 
Madison's  voice  shaken  by  the  extremest  terror  implored, 
"Oh,  Mr.  Will,  oh,  Mr.  Will,  don't  let  'em  ketch  me, 
don't  let  'em  hang  me,  don't  let  'em  burn  me !  Oh,  Mr. 
Will,  do  somep'n  wid  me.  Quick,  quick,  Mr.  Will !" 

"What's  wrong,  Madison?" 


178  White  and  Black 

"Oh,  dey's  atter  me,  dey's  atter  me,  Mr.  Will." 

"What  have  you  done?  In  the  name  of  God  what  have 
you  done?" 

"I  ain't  done  nuthin',  Mr.  Will.  I  ain't  done  nuthin*. 
I  swar  to  Gaad  I  ain't  done  nuthin' !" 

"Well,  what's  the  matter,  have  you  gone  crazy  ?" 

"Naw,  suh,  naw,  suh !  Hide  me.  Hide  me  quick,  Mr. 
Will !" 

"But  what  for?    What  is  wrong?" 

"Oh,  dey  say  Lys,  dey  say  he  done,  dey  say  he,  dey 
say—" 

"Stop  your  chattering,  and  tell  me  what's  the  matter 
with  you." 

"Oh,  Mr.  Will,  don't  git  mad  at  me,  don't,  don't,  Mr. 
Will—" 

"I'm  not  mad  at  you.    What's  happened?" 

"Dey  say  Lys  done  attacted  dat  ar,  dat  ar — " 

"Who?"  thundered  Mr.  Robertson. 

"Dat  ar  Susie  Senter,  dat  ar  Mr. — Mr.  Senter's  gal, 
you  know,  oh,  Mr.  Will,  you  know — dat  ar — " 

"You  infernal  scoundrel,  you  infernal  scoundrel,  you 
put  him  up  to  it,"  shrieked  Mr.  Robertson,  as  he  kicked 
Madison  away  and  broke  loose  from  his  hold. 

"Naw,  suh,  naw,  suh,  Mr.  Will,  befo'  Gaad  I  didn't 
know  nuthin'  about  it.  I  ain't  had  nuthin'  to  do  wid  it. 
Oh,  Mr.  Will,  don't  let  'em  git  me.  Don't  let  'em  git 
me !  Oh,  f  o'  Gaad's  sake,  Mr.  Will !  I  ain't  had  nuthin' 
to  do  wid  it !" 

"Get  up  off  of  that  ground!  Stand  up  there!"  com- 
manded Mr.  Robertson. 

Madison  rose,  shaking,  to  his  feet,  but  trembled  so 
violently  that  he  could  hardly  keep  himself  up. 


White  and  Black  179 

"Here,  Cyrus,  strike  this  match  and  hold  it  to  his  face." 

"I  don't  b'lieve  I  kin  strike  it,  Mr.  Will.  I  don't  b'lieve 
I  kin  strike  it !"  chattered  Cyrus. 

"Come  here,  Madison.  Stand  close.  I  must  see  your 
'face." 

But  he  himself  advanced  to  Madison,  struck  the  match 
and  by  its  flare  in  the  windless  night  scrutinized  the  dis- 
torted countenance. 

"You  swear  to  me  by  all  that's  good  and  holy  that  you 
had  nothing  to  do  with  this,  Madison?" 

"Naw,  suh,  naw,  suh,  befo'  Gaad,  Mr.  Robertson,  I 
don't  know  nuthin'  about  it.  I  ain't  had  nuthin'  to  do 
wid  it.  Oh,  Mr.  Will,  Mr.  Will !"  he  fell  on  the  ground 
again,  and  reached  to  catch  hold  of  the  feet  that  had 
but  just  kicked  him,  "dey's  a-comin',  dey's  a-comin',  oh, 
we  ain't  got  no  time,  we  ain't  got  no  time — " 

"Take  him  up  there  in  the  barn,  Cyrus,  and  hide  him 
under  that  loose  hay.  Bury  down  under  it,  Madison,  and 
stay  still — still,  do  you  hear?" 

"Oh,  yassuh,  Mr.  Will,  oh,  yassuh,  Mr.  Will,  you  ain't 
gwine  to  let  'em,  you  ain't  gwine  to  let  'em — " 

"No,  I'm  not  going  to  let  'em  get  you  to-night.  Cyrus, 
as  soon  as  you've  hid  him,  you  get  to  bed  and  stay  there, 
pull  off  your  clothes,  and  whatever  happens,  you  be 
asleep." 

"Yassuh,  yassuh,  Mr.  Will,  I  sho'  will  be  asleep.  Don't 
you  worry,  Mr.  Will,  I  sho'  will  be  asleep." 

"Pick  him  up  then  and  come  on.  I'll  see  you  help  him 
up  the  ladder." 

Mr.  Robertson  stood  by  to  see  them  climb  into  the  loft, 
and  waited  until  Cyrus  came,  half  sliding,  half  falling, 
down  again. 


I  So  White  and  Black 

"Did  you  hide  him  good,  Cyrus?" 

"Y-yassuh,  I  put  him  under  all  dat  hay,"  and  Cyrus 
started  on  a  run. 

"Stop,"  commanded  Mr.  Robertson,  "where  are  you 
going  so  fast?" 

"I — I  wuz  jes  gwine  to  git  in  de  bed  befo'  nuthin'  hap- 
pens," declared  Cyrus. 

As  agitated  as  he  was,  Mr.  Robertson  could  not  restrain 
a  smile,  "Well,"  he  said,  "I  reckon  that  is  the  best  place 
for  you." 

Cyrus  left  at  top  speed. 

Mr.  Robertson  returned  to  the  sitting-room,  resumed 
his  seat,  and  picked  up  the  book  again,  thinking  half  sub- 
consciously, "I  had  better  be  reading  when  they  come." 

Though  he  held  the  book  open,  it  was  impossible  for 
him  to  read.  His  mind  was  in  a  turmoil.  What  had  hap- 
pened? And  how  far  was  he  responsible  for  it?  Was 
Madison  really  innocent?  Was  it  right  to  hide  him? 
There  would  certainly  be  a  mob.  Was  it  right  to  turn 
Madison  over  to  their  fury  to-night?  What  should  he 
say  when  they  came?  If  they  found  Madison,  what 
would  they  think  of  Will  Robertson?  \Vhat  was  his  duty 
to  Sim  Senter?  If  there  was  to  be  a  lynching,  what? 
"Oh,  I  wish  to  God  I  had  driven  that  Ulysses  away !"  he 
exclaimed.  "And  poor,  little,  unfortunate  Susie !  God 
knows  her  lot  was  hard  at  best.  And  now  this,  this! 
Oh,  it's  horrible!  It's  awful  beyond  words.  Oh,  I 
wonder  if  he  killed  her.  Is  she  dead?  But  it  may  be 
better  so.  God !  it  may  be  better  so !" 

He  heard  steps  on  the  porch,  the  sound  of  many  feet, 
then  a  knock  at  the  door.  The  book  fell  from  his  hands. 
He  staggered  into  the  hall  and  called,  "Who's  there?" 


White  and  Black  !l8l; 

"It's  me,  Rod  Parker,  Will,"  answered  from  the  dark- 
ness the  voice  of  the  sheriff  of  Compton  county. 

"Come  in,  Rod,  what  do  you  want?" 

"No,  you'd  better  come  out  here,  Will." 

Mr.  Robertson  hurried  out,  glad  of  the  protection  of 
the  dark,  "What's  wrong?"  he  asked. 

"Them  Mulberry  niggers  have  outraged  Sim  Senter's 
girl,"  said  the  sheriff.  There  were  eight  or  ten  men  with 
him. 

"Is  she  dead  ?    Did  they  kill  her?"  asked  Mr.  Robertson. 

"No,  she  ain't  dead.  Dr.  Anderson  is  down  there  now. 
I've  got  my  posse  divided  lookin'  for  them  niggers.  I've 
got  one  bunch  lookin'  through  the  creek  bottom  now,  an' 
I  want  you  and  Bob  to  come  with  us.  Both  of  you  git 
your  guns." 

"Bob?    Bob  is  not  of  age." 

"He  is  old  enough  to  shoot,"  answered  the  sheriff, 
"we've  got  to  capture  the  niggers  and  we've  got  to  pro- 
tect 'em  from  the  mob.  But  God  damn  'em,  I'd  give  a 
thousand  dollars  if  I  wasn't  sheriff  to-night." 

"Wait  a  minute  and  I  will  wake  Bob."  He  hurried  up 
the  stairs,  woke  Bob,  told  him  to  get  his  gun  and  dress 
as  fast  as  he  could.  Then  he  went  to  Mrs.  Robertson. 
"Mamie,  darling,"  he  said,  "JBob  and  I  have  to  go  with 
the  sheriff  and  help  capture  Ulysses  Mulberry.  He  has 
outraged  Susie  Senter." 

"Not  Bob !  not  Bob !"  she  cried. 

"Yes,  Bsb,  too,  honey." 

"Oh,  one  of  you  will  be  killed.  Oh,  Will,  both  of  you 
may  be  killed !" 

"No,  sweetheart,  no.    There's  not  much  danger." 

She  had  clung  to  his  embrace,  but  now  she  snatched 


1 82  White  and  Black 

herself  free  and  ran  to  Bob's  room,  threw  her  arms  around 
him  and  wailed,  "Oh,  Bob,  Bob,  oh,  my  son!  my  son!" 

"What  is  it,  Mama?    Oh,  what  is  it?" 

"Oh,  you  have  to  go  with  the  sheriff.  Oh,  you  will  be 
killed." 

"What  for?"  cried  Bob,  "what  for?  What  have  I 
done?" 

Mr.  Robertson  came  in,  "Listen  now,"  he  said,  "Bob, 
you  and  I  have  to  help  capture  Ulysses  Mulberry.  He  has 
assaulted  Susie  Senter." 

"Oh,  the  infernal  scoundrel!"  said  Bob.  "Turn  me 
loose,  Mama."  And  he  tore  himself  from  her  arms. 

She  fell  prone  on  the  bed.  "Hurry,  Bob,"  said  his 
father,  "I'll  send  Cindy  up  here  to  stay  with  Mama.  That's 
all  we  can  do."  He  rushed  downstairs  and  out  into  the 
back  yard.  There  he  beat  upon  the  door  of  Cindy's  house. 
"Cindy !  Cindy !"  he  shouted.  "Dress  and  come  into  the 
house.  Miss  Mamie  wants  you!" 

But  no  sound  came  from  within.  Then  he  bethought 
himself,  "I  told  Cyrus  to  be  asleep  whatever  happened. 
Neither  of  them  will  ever  get  up  for  anything  outside 
of  the  house.  What  am  I  going  to  do?" 

He  groped  his  way  to  the  nearby  wood-pile,  got  a  stick 
of  cord-wood,  and  battered  in  the  door.  "It's  me,  Mr. 
Will,"  he  cried.  "Get  out  of  that  bed,  Cindy!  Get  up, 
Cyrus,  and  saddle  the  horses  for  Bob  and  me !" 

"How  kin  I  git  out  of  de  bed  wid  you  in  hyeer,  Mr. 
Will?"  faltered  Cindy. 

He  caught  her  fat  arm  and  jerked  her  to  the  floor. 
"Don't  stop  to  dress.  Run,  run,  like  you  are,  to  Miss 
Mamie's  room.  No,  to  Mr.  Bob's  room.  She  is  in  there." 

Cindy  fled. 

"Hurry,  Cyrus,  and  saddle  those  horses !" 


White  and  Black  183 

"Mr. — Mr.  Will,  I  couldn't  make  de  tongue  and  buckle 
meet.  I's  tarrified,  Mr.  Will.  I's  plumb  tarrified!" 

"Well,  put  on  your  clothes,  and  go  and  sit  in  the  hall. 
Take  care  of  Miss  Mamie.  Bob  and  I  have  to  go  with 
the  sheriff." 

Mr.  Robertson  ran  to  the  barn,  saddled  the  horses,  and 
rode  swiftly  to  the  front,  leading  Saladin.  He  found  Bob 
dressed  and  armed  on  the  porch  with  the  sheriff  and  his 
posse. 

"How  is  she,  Bob  ?"  he  asked. 

"Cindy  is  there,  and  she  is  sitting  up." 

"She  will  recover  herself  after  a  little.  I  told  Cyrus 
to  stay  in  the  hall  downstairs." 

"Well,  are  we  ready?"  asked  Rod  Parker.  "But,  Will, 
you  haven't  got  any  gun !" 

"Oh,  I  forgot  that,  lend  me  one  of  yours." 

The  sheriff  handed  him  a  revolver.  "Take  that,"  he 
said,  "and  now  the  question  is,  where  to  go?  We  think 
one  of  them  niggers  started  up  this  way." 

"What  do  you  say  about  it,  Mr.  Hiram  ?" 

Mr.  Hiram's  voice  answered,  "I  don't  know,  I'm  ready 
to  go  anywhere." 

"What  do  you  say,  Randy?" 

"Don't  that  new  nigger  preacher  stay  over  hyeer  at 
Uncle  Peter  Higgins's?"  asked  Randy  Shallow. 

"Yes,  but  what's  he  got  to  do  with  it?"  said  Mr.  Rob- 
ertson. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,  Will,  but  I've  got  a  sort  of  hunch 
that  if  a  nigger  hyeer  wuz  to  git  into  this  kind  of  trouble, 
and  we  kinder  surrounded  him,  he'd  make  for  that 
preacher,  'specially  if  he  wuz  a  young  nigger  that  had 
been  to  the  City." 


184  White  and  Black 

"Randy's  right,"  said  Tony  Peters,  "what  do  you  think, 
Rod?" 

"It's  as  good  luck  as  any,"  answered  the  sheriff,  "but 
if  he  wuz  an  old  nigger  an'  hadn't  really  done  it,  I  bet 
he'd  take  a  chance  on  comin'  to  Will  Robertson.  I 
don't  know  whether  Madison  had  anything  to  do  with 
it  or  not.  I  don't  much  think  he  did,  but  anyways  Lys 
is  the  main  one  we  want.  So  we'll  chance  Richard 
Sanders." 

The  cavalcade  started.  Mr.  Robertson,  riding  by  the 
side  of  the  sheriff,  said,  "Tell  me  about  it,  Rod." 

"Well,  about  four  o'clock  this  evenin'  they  found  Susie 
mighty  nigh  dead  in  one  of  them  big  gullies  in  that 
brush  close  to  the  plum  thicket.  They  had  to  take  her 
home.  They  had  to  come  and  git  the  doctor  and  me. 
I  got  up  a  posse,  and  when  we  got  down  there  it  was 
about  dark.  Susie  hadn't  come  to  enough  to  tell  us 
much.  They  ought  to  have  looked  for  her  quicker,  but 
her  mother  said  she  thought  Susie  was  staying  a  while 
with  her  daddy  and  the  boys  in  the  field,  till  the  old  gray 
mule  came  in  with  nobody  in  the  buggy.  Then  she  had 
to  send  one  of  the  chillun  to  the  field.  And  it  all  took 
time.  Me  and  the  posse  went  over  to  the  Mulberry 
place.  Madison  an'  Lys  wasn't  there.  The  old  woman 
hadn't  seen  'em  since  dinner,  she  said.  The  chillun 
didn't  know  anything  about  'em.  I  left  the  posse  there 
to  scour  the  creek  bottom,  with  Judge  Mowry  at  the 
head  of  'em. 

"Then  I  come  back  to  town  and  got  up  some  more 
men  and  sent  'em  down  to  Judge  Mowry.  And  I  had 
to  telephone  all  the  near-by  towns.  Then  I  got  up  this 
bunch,  and  here  we  are." 


White  and  Black  185 

"Well,  nobody  knows  then  who  actually  did  commit 
the  assault?" 

"No,  not  for  certain.  But  I  expect  by  this  time  that 
Dr.  Anderson  has  got  Susie  around  to  where  she  can 
tell.  I  left  Squire  Meekin  down  to  the  court  house  to 
git  the  news,  and  everybody  was  to  report  to  him.  And 
whenever  we  catch  one  of  the  niggers  we  are  to  fire  off 
three  shots,  and  if  we  git  both  of  'em,  five  shots.  And 
they  are  to  be  brought  to  Squire  Meekin  and  clapped  in 
the  jail  and  a  guard  thrown  around  it." 

"But  there  will  be  a  thousand  men  in  town  to-night 
from  all  the  country  round.  Do  you  think  we  ever  could 
get  the  niggers  into  the  jail?" 

"No,  I  don't  think  so.  I  believe  my  posse  itself  will 
go  back  on  me  and  turn  into  a  mob,  but  what  else  can 
I  do?" 

"You  can't  do  anything  else  unless  you  happen  to  find 
'em  yourself,  and  then  maybe  you  could  slip  'em  into 
the  jail  without  giving  the  signal." 

"I  can  try  that,"  said  the  sheriff,  "but  you  know,  as 
well  as  I  do,  that  even  this  bunch  that  I've  got  here  with 
me  ain't  goin'  to  stand  for  that.  And  if  we  got  'em 
into  the  jail,  I  don't  know  as  it  would  do  much  good. 
The  only  safe  thing  would  be  to  git  'em  out  of  the 
county." 

"And  we  could  hardly  do  that  to-night,"  said  Mr. 
Robertson. 

"No,  not  likely,"  answered  the  sheriff,  "but  I've  got 
an  automobile  all  ready  at  the  back  of  the  jail,  and  I 
figgered  that  if  we  could  once  git  him  inside  and  things 
got  too  squally,  maybe  I  could  rush  him  through  the 
jail  into  the  car  and  then  light  out  with  him  for  Simpson 


186  White  and  Black 

county.  But  we  will  wait  and  see,  and  do  the  best  we 
can  when  the  time  comes." 

Amid  a  great  barking  of  dogs  they  reached  Uncle 
Peter  Higgins's  house.  It  was  a  ceiled  and  painted 
house  of  six  rooms,  for  Uncle  Peter  owned  his  farm, 
had  no  rent  to  pay,  and  had  been  thrifty  and  saving  all 
of  his  life.  Richard  Sanders  boarded  with  him. 

"Surround  the  house,  boys,"  the  sheriff  commanded 
softly,  "and  have  your  guns  ready.  Shoot  the  dogs,  if 
necessary.  Come  with  me,  Will,  and  we'll  knock  on 
the  door." 

To  their  loud  knocks  responded  Uncle  Peter's  voice, 
"Who  dar?" 

"It's  the  sheriff,  Uncle  Peter,  open  the  door." 

"Yassuh,  right  away,  soon  as  I  kin  git  up,  and  strike 
a  light." 

Uncle  Peter  came  to  the  door  with  a  lamp  in  one  hand, 
shading  the  top  of  the  lamp  chimney  against  any  draft 
with  the  other. 

"What  were  you  doing  awake,  Uncle  Peter?" 

"I  jest  now  waked  up,  Mr.  Rod.  I  hyeered  sich  a 
miration  'mongst  de  dawgs." 

"Do  you  know  what  we've  come  for?" 

"Naw,  suh,"  said  Uncle  Peter,  "but  I  knows  I  ain't 
done  nuthin'.  You  couldn't  want  me." 

"No,  I  don't  want  you,  but  I  want  to  see  Richard 
Sanders." 

"He  sho'  ain't  done  nuthin',  Mr.  Rod !  He  ain't  done 
nuthin',  is  he  ?  Oh,  sho'ly  he  ain't  done  nuthin' !  Who 
you  got  wid  you,  Mr.  Rod?" 

"I've  got  the  house  surrounded.  Nobody  inside  can 
get  out,  and  they'd  better  not  try.  Where's  Richard 
Sanders  ?" 


White  and  Black  187 

"He's  in  his  room,  I  reckon,  Mr.  Rod,  but  it's  got  a 
openin'  on  de  side  po'ch." 

"Go  inside  there,  Will,  and  watch  the  inside  door," 
commanded  the  sheriff. 

Mr.  Robertson  pushed  by  Uncle  Peter,  who  exclaimed, 
"Lawd,  Mr.  Will!  Whut  is  it,  whut  is  it,  Mr.  Will? 
It  must  be  somep'n  awful  bad  if  dey  brought  you  out. 
Oh,  Lawd,  Mr.  Will,  whut  is  it?" 

"It's  as  bad  as  can  be,"  said  Mr.  Robertson.  "Hold 
that  lamp  so  it  will  shine  on  Richard's  door.  And  shut 
up.  Be  quiet." 

There  came  the  sound  of  a  loud  knocking  on  the  out- 
side door  of  Richard's  room.  "Open,  I  know  you  are 
awake!"  called  the  sheriff. 

"Who  is  knocking?"  came  Richard's  voice. 

"The  sheriff  of  Compton  County!     Open  the  door!" 

"Do  you  come  in  the  name  of  the  law?"  demanded 
Richard. 

"Open  that  door,  nigger,  or  I'll  shoot  through  it. 
Of  course  I  come  in  the  name  of  the  law." 

Richard  threw  the  door  open.  "First,  Mr.  Sheriff,  I 
demand — "  he  began. 

"You  demand  hell !     Strike  a  light !" 

"But  I'm  a  citizen — " 

The  door  back  of  him  that  opened  on  the  inside  of  the 
house  creaked  on  its  hinges.  "Watch  out,  Will,"  called 
the  sheriff,  "somebody's  coming  your  way." 

The  door  closed  again. 

"I  deliver  this  man  to  you  as  the  sheriff  of  Compton 
county,"  said  Richard,  "and  I  invoke  for  him  the  pro- 
tection of  the  law.  Come  here,  Brother  Ulysses." 

Mr.  Robertson  had  taken  the  lamp  from  Uncle  Peter 
and  come  with  it  through  the  inside  door  into  the  room. 


1 88  White  and  Black 

It  revealed  Ulysses  crouching  in  the  middle  of  the  floor. 
He  began  to  crawl  toward  Mr.  Robertson,  all  his  bravado 
gone,  and  crying,  "Mr.  Will — " 

"Don't  touch  me,  you  dirty  beast,  I'll  kick  you  in  the 
face,"  said  Mr.  Robertson. 

"Wait,  I'll  put  the  cuffs  on  him,"  said  the  sheriff. 

He  walked  forward,  and  snapped  handcuffs  on 
Ulysses'  wrists.  "And  now,"  he  said,  "I  arrest  you, 
Richard  Sanders,  for  aiding  and  abetting  a  known  crimi- 
nal to  escape." 

"He  has  been  here  for  two  hours.  I  wasn't  going  to 
try  to  help  him  escape  from  anybody  except  a  mob. 
As  soon  as  the  excitement  calmed  down,  I  was  going  to 
bring  him  to  you." 

The  men  outside  were  growing  impatient.  "Have  you 
got  him?  Have  you  got  him?"  one  of  them  called. 

"Hold  your  stands,"  shouted  the  sheriff,  "he  may  be 
out  any  minute." 

Mr.  Robertson  said,  "Uncle  Peter,  did  you  know 
Ulysses  was  here?" 

"I— I— I—"  stammered  Uncle  Peter. 

"Did  you  know  what  he  had  done?" 

"He  said  he  ain't  done  nuthin',  an'  de  white  folks  wuz 
atter  him,"  replied  Uncle  Peter. 

"You  knew  that  couldn't  be  so." 

"Yassuh,  yassuh,  Mr.  Will,  but  he  begged  so  hard  jes' 
to  stay  hyeer  to-night,  an'  Brother  Sanders  said  he'd 
keep  him,  an'  tend  to  him  to-morrer,  an'  I  thought — " 

"Do  you  know  what  he  did?" 

"Naw,  suh,  Mr.  Will,  I  don't  know.  I  don't  know 
nuthin'  about  it." 

"Do  you  know,  Richard?" 


White  and  Black  189 

"Yes,  sir,  I  know  what  they  suspect  him  of,  but  he 
says  he  is  innocent." 

"Do  you  believe  he  is  innocent?" 

"Well — well — I  believe  he  ought  to  be  turned  over  to 
the  officers  and — and  have  a  fair  trial." 

"Rod,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  addressing  the  sheriff,, 
"you  know  what's  most  likely  to  happen  to  Ulysses. 
There's  no  need  to  let  it  happen  to  Uncle  Peter  or  Rich- 
ard. I'll  answer  for  them  if  they  are  ever  needed.  You 
couldn't  expect  them  to  do  anything  else  than  what  they 
have  done.  We've  got  to  fix  it  up  somehow." 

"Hurry  up  in  there,  we're  comin'  in,"  cried  a  voice 
from  the  outside. 

"You  manage  it,  Will,"  said  the  sheriff. 

"We've  got  him,"  called  Mr.  Robertson,  through  the 
open  door,  "they  had  him  tied  in  here,  and  Richard  was 
just  starting  to  town  to  notify  the  officers."  Then  he 
said  in  a  low  voice  to  Uncle  Peter,  "Hand  me  that  rope 
that's  hanging  up  in  the  hall  there." 

Uncle  Peter  handed  him  the  rope.  The  men  came 
swarming  in  and  saw  Mr.  Robertson  with  the  rope  in 
his  hand.  Then  their  eyes  fell  on  Ulysses  still  crouching- 
to  the  floor.  They  burst  into  wild  curses  and  pressed 
forward  to  get  their  hands  and  feet  on  the  prisoner. 
"Wait,  wait,  wait,  men,  for  God's  sake !"  cried  the  sheriff. 

"Remember,  boys,  we  are -officers  of  the  law,"  pro- 
tested Mr.  Robertson. 

"Put  that  rope  around  his  neck !"  cried  Randy  Shallow.. 

The  rope  was  snatched  from  Mr.  Robertson's  hands. 
"Wait,  wait,  till  we  git  him  to  town,"  implored  the 
sheriff,  "he's  got  to  be  identified.  Wait  till  we  hear 
what  Susie  has  said." 


190  White  and  Black 

"Yes,  less  wait,  boys,"  said  Mr.  Hiram. 

"Hold  on  here,  Randy,  that's  right,  less  wait,"  said 
Tony  Peters. 

"Wait,  hell !  we'll  hang  him  here !"  cried  a  voice. 

"No,  no,  we'll  take  him  to  town  and  burn  him,"  cried 
another. 

"Come  here,  Bob,"  commanded  Mr.  Robertson.  Bob 
emerged  from  the  crowd  at  the  door.  "Rod,  Tony, 
Hiram,  come  here."  They  came  to  him  as  called. 
"Now,"  he  said,  "we're  going  to  take  this  nigger  to  jail 
and  we  are  going  to  do  it  in  an  orderly  fashion.  The 
first  man  that  touches  him  has  got  to  reckon  with  us. 

"Bob,  you  and  Rod,  take  him  and  put  him  on  my  horse 
behind  the  saddle.  Hiram,  you  and  Tony,  follow  behind 
him.  The  rest  of  you,  get  out  of  the  way,  fall  back 
there." 

Marvelously,  all  obeyed  him.  He  was  the  last  to  leave 
the  room.  Before  going,  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  "Rich- 
ard, you  and  Uncle  Peter  leave  here  and  leave  quick. 
Ride  east  away  from  Compton  as  fast  as  you  can  go." 

When  they  started  back  to  Compton,  the  sheriff  com- 
manded, "Now,  boys,  we're  going  to  slip  him  into  jail. 
Don't  none  of  you  fire  that  signal." 

He  was  answered  by  a  snigger  from  the  darkness. 
They  rode  in  silence  until  they  were  within  half  a  mile  of 
the  town.  Then  suddenly  the  silence  was  broken  by  the 
three  shots.  "Who  fired  that  gun?"  shouted  the  sheriff 
angrily. 

"Never  mind  now,  Rod,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  "we've 
got  to  make  a  dash  for  it.  Come  on !"  He  prodded  his 
horse  with  his  heels.  It  broke  into  a  run.  "Come  on, 
Bob!  Rod!  Tony!  Hiram!"  he  shouted.  But  all  around 
could  be  heard  the  answering  signals,  first  near  at  hand, 


White  and  Black  191 

then  farther  and  farther  away,  up  and  down  the  creek 
bottom,  east  and  west,  north  and  south.  "My  God," 
he  cried,  "it's  hopeless!" 

And  it  was  hopeless.  As  they  entered  the  town,  they 
were  surrounded  by  a  mob  of  infuriated  men,  who 
snatched  Ulysses  from  the  horse  and  dragged  him  to  the 
court  house  square.  There  they  milled  and  swarmed 
around  him,  firing  irregular  volleys  into  the  air  and 
yelling  like  wild  beasts. 

A  piercing  voice  was  heard,  "Git  a  rope,  git  a  rope." 

Ten  voices  answered,  "Here's  a  rope !  Here's  a  rope. 
Let  me  git  to  him." 

"Naw,  naw,"  called  others,  "hangin's  too  good  for  him. 
We're  goin'  to  burn  him!" 

Judge  Mowry  had  come.  He  climbed  to  the  steps 
that  led  over  the  court  house  fence.  Somebody  had 
procured  torches.  Their  light  showed  him  standing 
erect.  His  powerful  voice  penetrated  the  tumult.  "Fel- 
low citizens,"  he  said,  "we've  got  to  have  some  order 
about  this  thing." 

Those  near  stopped  their  clamor  and  gradually  the 
quietness  spread  outward  to  the  edges  of  the  crowd. 
"Fellow  citizens,  I  report  that  the  victim  of  an  unspeak- 
able outrage  has  identified  her  assailant.  She  says  it  was 
this  brute  we  have  here,  and  him  alone.  What  shall  we 
do  with  him?  Shall  we — " 

He  got  no  further.  "Hang  him!  Burn  him!  Burn 
him!  Hang  him!  Burn  him!  Burn  him!" 

Sim  Senter  was  carried  to  the  front  and  lifted  to  a 
place  by  the  side  of  Judge  Mowry.  "There's  Sim.  Sim, 
what  do  you  say,  Sim?"  yelled  the  crowd. 

In  the  flickering  light  Sim's  face  loomed  a  picture  of 


192  White  and  Black 

grief,  horror,  fury,  "I  say  burn  him,  God  damn  him!'* 
he  shrieked. 

But  somehow  Brother  Maxcy  had  attained  a  position 
by  his  side,  "No,  no,"  he  cried,  "men,  I  beseech  you,  I 
beg  you  in  the  name  of  the  law,  in  the  name  of  God — 

"Ha,  the  parson !"  yelled  the  crowd,  "the  parson.  Ha ! 
ha !  ha !  the  parson,  pull  him  down,  throw  him  out. 
Knock  him  down,  Sim." 

Sim,  infuriated,  drew  back  his  hand  to  deal  the  blow, 
but  his  arm  was  caught  by  Judge  Mowry,  "No,  no, 
Sim,"  he  commanded,  "Maxcy,  get  down,  get  away  from 
here  quick!" 

"Oh,  men,  brothers,  you  will  repent  this — "  Brother 
Maxcy  implored,  but  he  was  seized  from  behind,  dragged 
<lown,  and  pushed,  shoved,  and  hustled  to  the  outer  edge 
of  the  crowd. 

"Burn  him,  burn  him,  burn  him!"  was  shrieked  from 
all  sides. 

"All  right,  boys,  tie  him  to  the  fence!  Here's  the 
stuff  to  burn  him  with."  Advancing  through  the  crowd 
came  two  men  with  a  railroad  tie.  "There's  a  pile  of 
'em  back  there!" 

Ropes  were  brought  with  miraculous  swiftness,  and 
the  shrieking  prisoner  was  tied  to  the  fence  with  a  hun- 
dred knots.  "Oh,  Gaad,"  he  cried,  "oh,  Mr.  Will,  Mr. 
Will,  oh,  Jedge,  oh,  Jedge,  oh,  Mr.  Will,  don't  let  'em, 
don't  let  'em— !" 

Somebody  struck  him  a  blow  in  the  mouth  that  stifled 
his  cries.  A  line  of  men  came  bringing  railroad  ties. 
They  built  a  close  pen  of  these  pine  ties  around  him. 
Two  men  struggled  to  get  through  the  crowd  with  a 
barrel  of  kerosene  taken  from  a  store.  "Let  us  pour 
it  on,"  they  yelled,  "let  us  pour  it  on !" 


White  and  Black  193 

Way  was  made  for  them.  They  drenched  the  wood 
with  the  oil.  Suddenly  above  all  noises  was  heard  a 
piercing  shriek,  "I  will  light  it.  I  will  light  it.  Git  out  of 
the  way,  I  will  light  it."  And  Harry,  a  torch  in  his 
hand,  came  pushing,  struggling,  to  the  front.  His  was 
the  face  of  a  fury,  as  his  eyes  met  the  convulsed  fea- 
tures of  Ulysses,  "Damn  you,  damn  you,  I've  got  you," 
he  shrieked,  "oh,  ha !  ha !  ha !  I've  got  you !" 

He  applied  the  torch  to  the  oiled  wood.  As  the  flames 
shot  up,  he  drew  the  torch  back,  and  dashed  it  with  all 
his  strength  straight  into  the  immovable  face  of  Ulysses. 
"There,  take  that !  Take  that  from  me.  Oh,  ha !  ha !  ha  I 
take  that  from  me!"  He  sank  insensible  to  the  ground 
and  was  dragged  away. 

The  flames  caught  the  wood  and  crackled.  There  was 
the  sickening  odor  of  burning  flesh.  Human  voices  fell 
silent.  All  eyes  were  fixed  in  a  stare  of  horrid  fascina- 
tion on  the  billowing  fire.  Then  from  the  midst  of  the 
crowd  was  heard,  "Damn  'em,  I  love  to  hear  'em  fry!'* 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  newspaper  reporters  who  came  speeding  to  Compton 
the  next  morning,  found  a  depressed  town.  An  unnat- 
ural quietness  prevailed.  It  was  Saturday,  but  no  Ne- 
groes were  visible,  and  the  few  whites  on  the  street 
showed  in  their  gait  and  attitudes  the  reaction  from  the 
intense  excitement  of  the  night  before,  but  under  this 
reaction  could  be  sensed  the  odor  of  a  dying  exultation 
mingled  with  defiance  and  guilt.  It  was  as  if  they  felt 
that  the  outside  world  were  judging  them  harshly,  that 
in  part  they  deserved  the  censure  and  were  ashamed,  but 
that  also  the  outside  world  did  not  fully  understand,  and 
that  at  any  rate  they  had  shown  that  world  that  theirs 
was  a  white  man's  country  in  which  the  white  race  would 
tolerate  no  assaults  on  its  integrity. 

In  answer  to  a  wire  from  the  governor,  the  sheriff 
answered  that  all  was  quiet  and  he  anticipated  no  fur- 
ther trouble.  Squire  Meekin  held  an  inquest,  and  a  ver- 
dict was  returned  that  Ulysses  Mulberry  came  to  his 
death  at  the  hands  of  unknown  parties.  The  court-house 
fence  was  repaired,  and  all  ashes  were  cleared  away,  but 
there  were  those  who  picked  up  little  pieces  of  bone  for 
souvenirs.  Word  was  brought  in  that  the  body  of  a 
Negro,  shot  to  death,  was  found  by  the  side  of  the  road 
two  miles  west  of  Compton.  He  turned  out  to  be  a 
Negro  strange  to  the  community,  who  had  had  the  bad 
luck  to  pick  out  that  night  for  traveling. 

Over  on  the  old  Benton  place  the  folks  slept  the  sleep 
of  exhaustion  till  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  then 

194 


White  and  Black  195 

Mr.  Robertson  had  to  wake  Cindy  to  cook  breakfast 
Bob  and  Mrs.  Robertson  did  not  come  down  till  the  meal 
was  announced. 

"Oh,  it  was  horrible,  horrible!"  said  Mrs.  Robertson, 

"Yes,  honey,  it  was — too  horrible  to  think  about,"  an- 
swered her  husband. 

"I  never  can  quit  thinking  about  it,"  said  Bob.  "I 
know  I  shall  always  have  the  picture  of  it  in  my  mind." 

"Couldn't  you  do  anything,  Will?"  asked  Mrs.  Rob- 
ertson. 

"No,  I  had  Ulysses  up  behind  me,  but  so  many  men 
crowded  up  and  grabbed  me  all  at  once  that  I  was  help- 
less. Of  course  I  might  possibly  have  shot  one  or  two 
of  them—" 

"Oh,  I  am  glad  you  didn't  do  that,"  said  his  wife. 
"I  thank  God  that  we  are  spared  that." 

"Yes,  and  it  wouldn't  have  done  any  good." 

"Might  you  not  have  ridden  straight  east  away  from 
Compton  and  so  have  brought  the  prisoner  safe  to  some 
other  jail?" 

"He  couldn't  have  done  that,"  said  Bob,  "because  the 
men  outside  there  where  I  was,  said  that  they  bet  Papa 
and  Mr.  Parker  were  going  to  try  to  save  that  nigger, 
but  that  they  were  going  to  watch  out  and  were  not  going 
to  stand  for  anything  like  that." 

"Yes,  Rod  and  I  both  knew  there  wasn't  any  use  in 
trying  to  start  east,"  said  Mr.  Robertson. 

"But  after  all  there  wasn't  any  doubt  about  his  guilt; 
was  there?"  asked  Mrs.  Robertson. 

"No,  I  suppose  not,"  answered  her  husband,  "Judge 
Mowry  said  that  Susie  had  identified  him." 

"Well,  it's  awful,  but  it  may  be  best  as  it  is,"  said 
Mrs.  Robertson. 


196  White  and  Black 

"Oh,  I  can't  think  that !  I  can't  think  that !"  exclaimed 
Mr.  Robertson.  "But — but  the  trouble  is  that  I  don't 
know  what  is  right.  Still  it  can't  be  right  to  burn  a 
.human  being  alive." 

"Oh,  Papa,  wasn't  it  horrible?"  said  Bob  with  a  shud- 
der. "And  yet  at  the  time  I  felt  somehow  sorter — 
sorter  like  the  others  there.  Didn't  you,  Papa  ?" 

"Yes,  son,  I  am  ashamed  to  say  I  did." 

"But,  Will,  you  didn't  leave  Bob  there  to — to  look  at 
it  all,  did  you  ?" 

"No,  Bob  and  I  got  separated,  but  I  found  him,  and 
then  we  took  Brother  Maxcy  home.  He  was  rather 
roughly  handled.  One  of  his  legs  was  sprained  and  he 
was  bruised  about  the  face  and  body." 

"Oh,  tell  me  about  it.  How  did  it  happen?  What 
was  he  doing  there?  Was  he  badly  hurt?  Oh,  was  he 
badly  hurt?" 

"No,  not  so  badly,"  and  Mr.  Robertson  gave  her  an 
account  of  Brother  Maxcy's  attempted  protest.  "And 
when  we  got  him  home,"  he  finished  with  a  smile,  "Sister 
Maxcy  was  kissing  and  petting  him  one  minute  and  be- 
rating him  the  next  for  having  exposed  himself  to  such 
danger.  She  would  laugh  to  have  him  back  and  cry  for 
what  he  had  gone  through.  But  we  managed  to  get  him 
to  bed  at  last,  and  then  most  of  the  worst  of  it  was  over 
when  we  came  back  by  the  court-house." 

"Is  there  danger  of  anything  more,  Will  ?" 

"No,  I  don't  think  so,  but  I've  got  to  go  and  see,  so  I 
may  know  what  to  do  with  Madison." 

"With  Madison!     Where  is  he?" 

"He's  out  in  the  barn." 

"Oh,  Will,  Will,  you  didn't  leave  him  here  last  night 
when  you  went  away,  did  you?" 


White  and  Black  197 

"Yes,  I  didn't  have  time  to  do  anything  else  with  him." 

"Oh,  if  I  had  known  that,  I  couldn't  have  stood  it.  To 
think,  that  horrible  creature  was  here  in  the  barn  and 
you  went  off  and  left  me!  Oh,  Will,  how  could  you?" 
Mrs.  Robertson  burst  into  tears. 

"Now,  Mamie,  now,  honey,  Madison  couldn't  have 
harmed  a  mouse  last  night.  He  was  scared  to  death. 
Nothing  short  of  fire  could  have  made  him  move  out  of 
that  barn.  But  I'll  have  to  go  to  town  to  tell  Rodney 
Parker  about  it  to-day,  and  see  how  he  thinks  we  ought 
to  handle  him." 

"Will,"  said  Mrs.  Robertson  amid  sobs,  "there's  one 
thing.  Bob  has  got  to  stay  here  with  me  till  you  get  that 
demon  off  the  place.  Oh,  Will,  think  of  what  might  have 
happened  last  night !  I  don't  know,  I  don't  know,  yes,  I 
think  they  ought  to  be  burned !" 

"Now,  Mama,  I'm  going  to  stay  here  with  you,  right 
with  you,"  said  Bob. 

"I  never  would  have  believed  your  Papa  would  have 
done  that,"  she  said. 

"I  tell  you,  Mamie,  there  wasn't  a  particle  of  danger !" 
He  felt  he  was  right,  but  in  his  mind  there  was  an  un- 
easiness, as  he  looked  back,  that  could  not  be  put  down. 
He  knew  that  he  could  have  persuaded  the  sheriff  to  leave 
either  him  or  Bob  at  home,  and  he  felt  that  Cindy  and 
Cyrus  might  not  have  been  a  very  effective  guard,  they 
were  already  so  frightened.  *  What  if  revenge  had  over- 
come fear  in  Madison?  What  then?  What  would  he 
then  have  wanted  to  do  with  Madison  ?  He  couldn't  bear 
the  thought  of  what  might  have  happened.  "Well,"  he 
said,  "I  am  sorry,  Mamie.  I  was  trying  to  do  what 
seemed  right.  And  it  turned  out  there  was  no  danger. 


198  White  and  Black 

Good-by,  dear,  I  must  go  to  town."  And  he  hurried 
away  without  waiting  for  her  reply. 

She  buried  her  face  in  her  arms  on  the  table  and  wept. 

Bob  sat  confused,  not  knowing  what  to  say. 

After  a  little  while,  she  rose,  telling  Bob  that  she 
would  go  to  her  room. 

Shortly  before  noon  Mr.  Robertson  returned.  He 
found  Bob  sitting  dismally  in  the  front  hall.  "All  is 
quiet  in  town,"  he  said.  "Rod  Parker  and  I  decided  it 
would  be  best  to  wait  till  dark  and  then  take  Madison  to 
jail.  He  can  be  kept  there  a  few  days  before  anybody 
much  will  know  it,  and  then  there  will  be  no  further 
danger  at  all.  Where's  your  mother?" 

"She's  upstairs,"  answered  Bob. 

After  dinner,  to  which  Mrs.  Robertson  did  not  come 
down,  Bob  was  too  restless  to  sleep.  His  father  had 
commanded  him  not  to  go  to  town,  not  to  leave  the  place, 
and  had  then  returned  upstairs,  carrying  his  mother's  din- 
ner to  her.  Bob  wandered  through  the  house  from  room 
to  room  downstairs,  sat  down,  got  up  again,  tried  in 
vain  to  read,  walked  up  and  down  the  porch,  and  then 
there  came  to  his  memory,  "The  spring  is  a  mighty  nice 
cool  place  in  this  hot  weather." 

So  he  concluded  to  go  to  the  spring.  In  his  mind  was 
the  picture  of  Ulysses  tied  to  the  fence  and  being  walled 
about  with  the  cross  ties,  then  of  the  billowing  flames  now 
and  again  parted,  or  swept  to  one  side,  by  a  current  of  air, 
allowing  a  glimpse  of  their  charred  victim.  He  kept 
thinking  that  his  feeling  ought  to  be  one  of  pure  and  un- 
mixed horror,  but  it  wasn't.  Something  savage  in  him 
billowed  and  flared  up  like  those  flames,  despite  his  ef- 
forts to  put  it  down.  The  recollection  was  repulsive, 


White  and  Black  199 

but  mixed  with  it  was  a  craving  and  the  idea  of  flesh,  of 
naked,  quivering  flesh  grasped  in  bare  hands. 

It  was  a  difficult  task  for  Mr.  Robertson  to  placate  his 
wife.  Again  and  again  she  told  him,  "You  knew  that 
I  am  not  easily  frightened,  but  that  over  all  of  us  white 
women  here  hangs  forever  that  dark  shadow.  The 
danger  is  always  there.  In  our  nightmares  we  fancy  a 
black  hand  at  our  throats,  the  evil  breath  of  a  black  body 
burning  our  faces." 

He  repeated  over  and  over,  "But,  Mamie,  you  know  that 
such  occurrences  are  very  rare.  And  almost  never  has 
it  happened  that  a  woman  of  your  standing  has  been  at- 
tacked. And  here  were  Cindy  and  Cyrus." 

"What  could  they  have  done?"  she  would  answer. 
"What  would  they  have  done?  And  suppose  Cyrus  and 
Madison  had  joined  forces.  Oh,  Will,  think  of  that! 
Cindy  would  have  run,  howling.  And  I — " 

"No,  honey,  no.  It  is  unthinkable  that  such  a  thing 
would  have  happened.  As  against  Madison,  Cyrus  would 
have  defended  you  with  his  life,  and  Cindy  would  have 
fought  like  a  tigress.  They  were  afraid  of  a  mob,  of 
a  white  mob,  not  of  a  man  of  their  own  color.  And  then 
Madison  wouldn't  do  anything  of  that  sort  himself." 

"You  didn't  know,  Will.  Nobody  can  really  know,  but 
on  a  theory  you  risked  your  wife." 

One  time  he  said  most  unluckily,  "But  I  owed  a  duty  to 
the  community,  to  humanity." 

It  took  an  hour  of  entreaty  and  lavished  endearments 
to  assuage  her  after  that.  And  it  was  not  until  he  had 
acknowledged  repeatedly  that  he  was  wholly  wrong,  that 
he  had  acted  under  the  overwhelming  excitement  of  the 
moment,  that  he  was  not  himself,  and  to  such  acknowl- 


2OO  White  and  Black 

edgments  had  added  time  and  again  protestations  that 
he  loved  her  beyond  words  to  express,  that  she  was  finally 
placated. 

She  told  him  then  to  leave  her  and  see  what  Bob  was 
doing  after  the  fearful  ordeal  to  which  he  had  been  sub- 
jected. 

Two  hours  afterwards  at  supper  she  was  serene.  The 
only  trace  of  lingering  resentment  that  she  showed,  was 
the  addressing  of  most  of  her  conversation  to  Bob. 

About  nine  o'clock  the  sheriff  drove  to  the  front  door 
in  a  motor  car.  Madison  was  led  from  the  barn,  and 
delivered  to  him.  And  he  drove  away  with  his  prisoner 
as  one  surrendered  by  his  bondsman  on  the  charge  of 
hog  theft.  But  both  the  sheriff  and  Mr.  Robertson  knew 
that  Madison's  chances  of  the  lightest  sentence  for  that 
felony  were  gone  glimmering.  The  best  he  could  hope 
for,  after  all  that  had  happened,  was  the  longest  pos- 
sible term  in  the  penitentiary  that  the  law  allowed  for 
such  a  crime.  And  Mr.  Robertson  could  not  help  re- 
flecting that  such  action  on  the  part  of  the  jury,  though 
illogical,  would  be  natural. 

That  night  Mrs.  Robertson  said,  "Will,  you  do  love 
me,  don't  you?" 

"Yes,  honey,  of  course  I  love  you  better  than  any- 
thing else  in  the  world." 

"Leave  out  the  'of  course,'  Will." 

"Yes,  dear,  I  love  you  better  than  anything  else  in 
the  world." 

"Then  kiss  me,  Will,  and  hold  me  tight,  tight." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

NEXT  morning  at  Sunday-school,  Minnie  Deane  made 
pretty  eyes  at  Bob,  but  he  avoided  her  glances.  In  the 
interval  between  Sunday-school  and  church,  he  did  not 
seek  her  out  as  heretofore,  but  he  went  outside  of  the 
building,  and  loafed  near  the  entrance  and  under  the 
neighboring  trees,  and  talked  with  the  other  boys  about 
the  lynching.  Most  of  them  vied  with  each  other  in 
trying  to  relate  details  that  had  escaped  general  ob- 
servation. Their  verdict  was  unanimous  that  Ulysses 
had  got  no  more  than  what  was  justly  due  him,  and  to 
this  they  added  the  sentiment  that  they  reckoned  this 
would  hold  the  niggers  down  for  a  while.  The  Sun- 
day-school lesson  that  they  had  just  finished  reciting  had 
for  its  Golden  Text,  "To-day  if  ye  will  hear  his  voice, 
harden  not  your  hearts,"  and  went  on  to  tell  how  Saul 
of  Tarsus  was  "taught  according  to  the  perfect  manner 
of  the  law  of  the  fathers,"  and  to  admonish,  "and  these 
words,  which  I  command  thee  this  day,  shall  be  in  thine 
heart:  And  thou  shalt  teach  them  diligently  unto  thy 
children,  and  shalt  talk  of  them  when  thou  sittest  in 
thine  house,  and  when  thou  walkest  by  the  way,  and 
when  thou  liest  down,  and  when  thou  risest  up." 

Jasper  Deane,  junior,  said,  "Didn't  old  Harry  swat 
him  a  good  one  though  with  that  torch  ?" 

And  his  brother,  Willie,  added,  "I  bet  you  I  would 
have  hit  him  twice." 

"Yes,  you  would  have  done  a  lot,"  jeered  Tom  Parker, 

201 


2O2  White  and  Black 

the  sheriff's  son,  "you've  got  just  about  spunk  enough  to 
wring  a  chicken's  neck,  and  that's  all." 

"Well,"  answered  Willie,  "I  didn't  see  your  dad  do  so 
much.  It  was  his  duty  to  put  the  prisoner  in  jail." 

"Hunh !  he  didn't  try.  He  could  have  put  him  there 
if  he  had  wanted  to.  But  your  dad  stayed  at  home  in 
bed.  He  had  a  pain  and  couldn't  do  nothing.  Ha !  ha ! 
ha !  I  know — he  had  a  pain  in  his  gizzard !  Or  maybe 
he  was  skeered  it  would  cost  him  something.  He's  al- 
ways got  a  pain  in  his  pocket-book." 

"You  are  a  liar,"  cried  Jasper,  junior. 

There  was  danger  of  its  coming  to  blows,  when  Jared 
Peters  interposed  with:  "They  tell  me  that  Mr.  Will 
Robertson  was  the  principal  one  that  caught  him." 

"Well,  that's  a  lie,"  said  Tom  Parker,  "somebody  is 
always  trying  to  make  out  that  Mr.  Will  Robertson 
runs  this  town,  and  he  don't,  not  by  a  long  shot." 

"How  about  it,  Bob,  you  was  with  'em,  wasn't  you? 
I  heard  Papa  say  you  was  with  'em." 

"Yes,  I  was  there,"  said  Bob,  "and—" 

"I  wisht  the  gang  I  was  with  had  ha'  caught  him," 
interrupted  Jasper,  junior,  "I  bet  you  we  never  would've 
brought  him  in  alive,  or  anyhow  we'd  have  shot  him  up 
some  and  burnt  him  afterwards."  He  made  a  gesture 
with  his  left  hand  that  brought  into  striking  evidence 
the  fact  that  he  had  lost  his  little  finger. 

"Yes,  they  did  put  him  out  of  his  misery  too  quick," 
said  Jared. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  said  Tom  Parker,  "you  fellers 
make  me  sick  talkin'  about  what  you  would  have  done, 
and  what  ought  to  have  been  done,  and  all  that.  The 
nigger  was  burned  plumb  up,  wasn't  he?" 

"It  looks  to  me  like  that  was  enough,"  said  Bob. 


White  and  Black  203 

"Hunh,  Randy  Shallow  said  your  dad  didn't  want  to 
burn  him  at  all,  nor  hang  him,  nor  do  nothing  except 
put  him  in  jail  to  be  tried,"  said  Jared. 

"Well,  I'll  swear !"  said  Jasper,  junior. 

"Mr.  Will  always  was  a  sort  of  milk  and  water  fel- 
ler," said  Tom  Parker,  "and  Bob  don't  miss  him  far." 

"Take  that  back,"  said  Bob,  advancing  on  him  bel- 
ligerently, "or  I'll—" 

"Well,  don't  git  huffy,"  answered  Tom,  laughing  pro- 
vokingly,  "I'll  take  it  back.  Anyhow,  we  can't  fight 
right  here  before  the  church." 

"I'll  fight  you  now  or  any  other  time,"  declared  Bob 
angrily. 

"Hunh,  ain't  Bob  gittin'  bold  since  Harry  Senter  licked 
him?"  taunted  little  Willie  Deane. 

"He's  a  regular  Goliah  the  second,"  said  Jasper,  junior. 

"I  thought  Bob  was  aimin'  to  git  to  be  one  of  the 
Deane  family,"  said  Tom,  "how  about  that,  Jasper?" 

But  Mr.  Hiram  Shorter  came  to  the  door  of  the 
church  and  beckoned,  saying,  "Come  in,  boys,  the  serv- 
ice is  beginning." 

Bob  was  surprised,  but  relieved,  to  see  no  sign  that 
the  Sacrament  of  the  Lord's  Supper  was  to  be  admin- 
istered, although  it  was  the  first  Sunday  of  the  month. 
On  the  table  within  the  chancel  rail  was  no  cover  of 
white  cloth  peaked  up  in  the  center.  On  a  Communion 
Sunday  Bob  knew  the  covering  would  be  there,  and  that 
the  peak  would  be  made  by  the  height  of  the  silver 
pitcher  that  contained  the  grape  juice  that  had  been 
substituted  for  the  wine  of  his  childhood,  and  he  knew 
that  with  the  silver  pitcher  of  grape  juice  would  be  two 
silver  goblets  and  a  silver  platter  holding  the  unleavened 
bread.  Bob  held  the  sacrament  in  a  peculiar  reverence, 


204  White  and  Black 

and  could  not  get  over  the  idea  that  he  who  ate  and 
drank  unworthily,  ate  and  drank  to  his  own  damnation. 
And  in  the  light  of  his  recent  past  conduct  he  could  not 
think  of  himself  as  eating  and  drinking  worthily. 

During  the  opening  hymn  and  prayer  he  had  time  to 
reflect  on  his  conversation  with  the  other  boys,  or,  rather, 
that  conversation  ran  idly  through  his  mind.  He  knew 
that  all  of  them  talked  much  more  savagely  than  they 
really  felt,  that  they  would  be  ashamed  to  show  any 
softness,  but  wished  rather  to  produce  on  each  other  the 
impression  of  hardy  valor.  Not  that  Bob  expressed  it 
so  clearly  to  himself,  but  the  hazy  recognition  of  it  was 
in  his  brain.  Then  it  came  to  him  that  the  Deane  boys 
seemed  decidedly  hostile,  and  he  wondered  what  they 
knew.  He  didn't  care  so  much  about  them,  but  what 
they  knew  would  soon  be  known  to  everybody.  And 
Bob  didn't  know  how  he  could  live  past  the  fact  of  that 
knowledge  getting  to  his  father  and  mother.  Church 
made  a  fellow  feel  bad,  anyway,  and  he  wished  he  didn't 
have  to  come. 

Brother  Maxcy  in  the  pulpit,  pulling  himself  up  by 
grasping  the  reading  desk,  rose  unsteadily  to  his  feet. 
His  face  showed  many  bruises.  "For  the  two  lessons, 
I  will  read  the  Sunday-school  lesson  of  to-day  and  that 
for  next  Sunday,  July  the  tenth,"  he  said,  and  proceeded 
to  read  about  Saul  of  Tarsus,  the  giving  of  the  Law, 
and  the  martyrdom  of  Stephen  at  the  hands  of  a  mob, 
with  Saul  consenting  unto  his  death. 

Then  he  announced  as  his  text,  "I  verily  thought  with 
myself  that  I  ought  to  do  many  things  contrary  to  the 
name  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth." 

As  the  sermon  progressed,  Jasper  Deane,  junior,  gazed 
for  relief  at  the  ceiling,  then  out  of  the  window,  then  he 


White  and  Black  205 

cut  his  eye  at  Jared  Peters  and  found  that  he  was  snif- 
fling. A  tear  started  in  Jasper,  junior's,  eye,  welled  up 
over  the  lower  lid,  and  fell  tumbling  down  on  his  Sun- 
day shirt.  Tom  Parker  held  out  valiantly  for  a  longer 
time,  but  at  last  he  bowed  his  head  on  the  seat  in  front 
of  him  and  sobbed.  Bob  buried  his  face  in  his  handker- 
chief, and  had  to  blow  his  nose  time  and  again,  while 
little  Willie  Deane  collapsed  utterly. 

The  older  members  of  the  congregation  were  also 
deeply  moved,  especially  the  men.  The  women  had  at 
least  taken  no  active  part  in  the  mob,  and  that  was  now 
something  of  a  salve  to  their  consciences,  though  many 
of  them,  too,  wept. 

Near  the  close  of  the  sermon  Brother  Maxcy  said, 
"I  perceive  from  your  tears  that  the  love  of  Christ  is 
in  you,  but  I  have  decided  not  to  have  the  Communion 
to-day,  because  we  are  unworthy  to  partake  of  it.  After 
a  week  of  prayer  and  repentance,  it  may  be  that  some 
of  us  may  dare,  trembling,  to  approach  the  table  of  the 
Lord's  Supper,  but  not  now.  A  blood-guiltiness  is  on 
our  souls.  We  have  not  searched  ourselves  sufficiently 
to  know  whether  or  not,  or  how  much,  our  sloth  or  greed 
or  indifference  or  self -righteousness  was  responsible  for 
the  crime  of  Ulysses  Mulberry,  as  our  craven  fear  and 
demoniac  rage  were  responsible  for  the  torture  of  his 
death." 

Immediately  after  the  sermon,  he  pronounced  the 
benediction,  and  with  streaming  eyes,  sank  exhausted  into 
his  chair. 

As  the  congregation  filed  out  of  the  church,  it  was  as 
if  they  had  been  released  from  a  spell.  A  feverish 
gaiety  of  talk  about  other  things  sprang  up  among  them. 
But  the  boys  first  cast  sheepish  glances  at  each  other, 


206  White  and  Black 

trying  to  determine  how  much  their  emotion  had  been 
noticed  by  their  companions.  Almost  at  once  they  began 
to  cast  about  for  devices  to  build  up  again  their  pre- 
tence of  hardness.  It  was  maddening  to  think  that  they 
had  acted  the  part  of  "sissies." 

Minnie  Deane  managed  to  come  out  side  by  side  with 
Bob.  "Hello,  Bob,"  she  said,  "have  you  got  a  cold?" 

"No,  I  haven't,"  said  Bob,  "but  I  saw  you  crying, 
too." 

"Oh,  I  didn't  know  you  were  condescending  to  throw 
a  look  at  me,"  she  answered. 

"Now,  Minnie,  I — you  know — I,"  stammered  Bob. 

"Minnie,  Minnie,"  Mrs.  Deane's  voice  was  heard, 
"where  is  Minnie?" 

"Here  I  am,  Mama." 

"Well,  come  on,  we're  going,  Papa  wants  to  start  the 
car."  She  came  up,  caught  Minnie's  arm,  and  saying 
icily,  "Good  morning,  Bob,"  hurried  her  daughter  away. 

"I  don't  blame  her,"  thought  Bob,  "I'm  not  fit  for 
anything.  But  who  is  fit  for  anything  here?  But  Papa 
didn't  stand  by  consenting  to  the  lynching,  and  he  lives 
right,  too.  Oh,  Papa  is  one  of  the  best  men  in  the 
world!  But  what  am  I?" 

When  the  Deanes  reached  home,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Deane  were  left  alone  together,  Jasper,  senior,  said, 
"Well,  I  think  Brother  Maxcy  went  too  far.  After  all 
is  said  and  done,  there  is  a  lot  of  difference  between 
Ulysses  Mulberry  and  Stephen,  the  martyr.  And  as  for 
our  greed  or  anything  else  being  responsible  for  Ulysses* 
crime,  that's  all  stuff  and  nonsense.  It  makes  me  tired, 
and  I  think  we'd  better  get  a  preacher  who  understands 
us,  and  has  got  something  practical  about  him." 

"Yes,  I  think  so,  too,"  said  Mrs.  Deane,  "he  had  me 


White  and  Black  207 

crying  and  there  were  tears  in  your  eyes,  too,  but  mar- 
tyrdoms for  the  love  of  Christ  and  lynchings  for  out- 
rages of  women  are  mighty  different  things.  And  what 
are  we  going  to  do  with  these  niggers,  men  and  women, 
I'd  like  to  know?  They  are  getting  more  uppity  every 
day,  and  nothing  we  can  do,  will  keep  'em  down.  They 
are  ruining  our  boys  and  girls,  that's  what  they  are 
doing,  and  what  they  are  going  to  keep  on  doing." 

"Yes,  educate  'em,  educate  'em,  educate  'em,  he  says. 
And  I'd  like  to  know  what  good  that's  going  to  do.  And 
be  kinder  to  'em  and  build  better  houses  for  'em,  and 
let  'em  have  more  money,  and  set  'em  better  examples, 
and  deal  more  fairly  with  'em,  and  all  that.  What  does 
a  nigger  care  for  good  examples  and  kind  treatment? 
What  he  wants  is  an  easy  time  and  plenty  of  women, 
and  grub  and  fine  clothes  that  he  don't  have  to  work  for, 
that's  what  he  wants.  I  say  make  'em  work,  make  'em 
work,  and  if  they  do  wrong,  punish  'em,  that's  what  I 
say." 

"And  hold  'em  away  from  our  boys  and  girls,"  added 
Mrs.  Deane. 

"Yes  and  that,  too,"  agreed  Jasper,  senior,  "and  all 
the  talk  about  Christian  treatment  of  'em,  and  about 
their  being  the  white  man's  burden,  and  about  our  re- 
sponsibility for  them  before  God,  that's  all  foolishness, 
and  never  will  come  to  anything.  They  were  slaves,  they 
were  born  to  be  slaves,  and  they  are  not  fit  for  anything 
else!  Educating  them  is  wasting  the  money  and  ruin- 
ing the  nigger." 

"Yes,  that's  true,  Jasper,  but  I've  been  looking  over 
the  catalogues,  and  I  believe  I've  picked  out  a  college 
for  Minnie,  if  it  suits  you." 


208  White  and  Black 

"I  bet  you've  picked  out  the  most  expensive  one,"  said 
Jasper. 

"No,  indeed  I  haven't.  I  have  selected  one  where 
she  can  finish  in  two  years." 

"Well,  that's  long  enough,  and  I  suppose  I'll  have  to 
send  her  somewhere,  since  Will  Robertson  is  going  to 
send  Bob." 

"But,  Jasper,  I've  told  you  about  Bob,  and  I  want  to 
break  that  up." 

"Great  God!  Miriam,  what  are  you  talking  about? 
I  thought  you  were  a  practical  woman.  In  the  first 
place  you  don't  really  know  anything  against  Bob.  There 
is  nothing  but  suspicion,  and  even  if  it's  true,  what  does 
it  amount  to?" 

"It  amounts  to  a  great  deal,  I  think,"  said  Mrs.  Deane. 

"Well,  it  don't.  If  you  think  you  are  going  to  git 
a  tin  angel  for  Minnie,  you  are  mistaken.  And  Bob's 
an  only  child,  and  he  will  have  the  two  farms,  a  thou- 
sand acres,  not  to  speak  of  the  fifteen  hundred  acres  of 
timber  land.  If  Will  had  had  any  business  sense,  he 
would  have  sold  that  timber  two  years  ago.  He  could 
have  got  sixty  thousand  dollars.  But  no,  he  is  going 
to  save  it  and  give  it  to  Bob  when  he  comes  of  age. 
That  may  be  just  as  well  though;  Will  would  probably 
fritter  away  the  money,  or  give  it  away,  if  he  had  it. 
The  taxes  on  it  keep  Will's  nose  to  the  grindstone  and 
the  price  has  gone  down,  but  the  price  will  come  back 
and  he  will  likely  keep  the  taxes  paid.  So  it  will  be  a 
good -thing  after  all." 

"But  to  think,  Jasper,  of  Bob's  marrying  our  daugh- 
ter, after  he,  after  he — " 

"Oh,  that  will  be  done  with  and  forgotten.  Where 
are  you  going  to  find  a  young  man  around  here — " 


White  and  Black  209 

"Surely,  surely,  Jasper,  there  must  be  some." 

"Oh,  there  may  be  one  now  and  again,  but  what  have 
they  got? — nothing. — And  then  you  never  can  know  for 
certain,  anyhow!" 

"Jasper,  you  don't  think  that  any  of  our  sons — " 

"Oh,  I  don't  know.  How  should  I  know?  But  I 
think  it  would  be  a  miracle — " 

"But  Bob  as  good  as  told  Minnie.  He  said  he  wasn't 
worthy  to  touch  her." 

"Well,  that  speaks  in  his  favor.  Lots  of  'em  wouldn't 
feel  that  way.  Or  if  they  did,  they  wouldn't  say  any- 
thing about  it.  Bob  has  got  a  conscience  like  his  father's, 
and  it  pesters  him  about  everything." 

"But  certainly  Mr.  Robertson  never  was  guilty  of 
anything  of  that  sort." 

"Oh,  well,  we  won't  discuss  that.  If  he  was,  it  is 
past  history  now.  And  you  know  good  and  well  there's 
not  a  better  husband  in  Compton  county  than  Will  Rob- 
ertson. The  only  thing  the  matter  with  him  is  he  don't 
know  the  value  of  a  dollar,  and  he  is  foolish  about  being 
so  mortally  easy  on  his  niggers  and  poor  folks  that  owe 
him  money.  But  that  don't  keep  him  from  being  a  good 
husband.  And  I'll  manage  to  git  in  a  lick  or  two  on 
Bob  myself,  and  keep  him  from  throwing  away  what 
his  daddy  gives  him.  No,  sir,  Minnie  couldn't  do  better, 
and  you  git  that  foolish  notion  out  of  your  head.  I 
want  you  to  invite  'em  all  over  to  dinner  or  something, 
some  time  this  week." 

"Oh,  it's  horrible,  horrible,"  said  Mrs.  Deane,  burst- 
ing into  tears,  "how  we  are  cursed  with  these  niggers. 
Everybody  calls  us  savages  when  we  burn  the  men  for 
outraging  white  girls,  and  the  women  go  on  day  after 


2IO  White  and  Black 

day  ruining  our  boys.    What  are  we  to  do?    Oh,  what 
are  we  to  do?" 

"Well,  there's  no  need  to  cry  about  it,"  said  Jasper, 
senior,  "it's  an  old  story.  And  we  manage  to  git  on 
pretty  well.  We  brought  the  niggers  here,  and  what 
would  we  do  if  we  didn't  have  'em  to  work  for  us? — 
We'd  have  to  do  all  the  work  ourselves,  or  we'd  have 
to  git  some  foreigners  or  poor  whites  to  do  it.  And  I 
don't  know  that  they'd  be  any  better.  I  haven't  heard 
that  Massachusetts  or  France  or  New  York  or  Italy  is 
such  a  moral  place.  There  may  not  be  so  many  rapes 
there,  I  am  not  sure  of  that,  but  poor  women  the  world 
over — " 

"Well,  then,  the  poverty  of  the  women  is  the  cause — " 
"Yes,  that's  one  of  'em.  And  that's  one  reason  why 
I  don't  want  any  of  my  folks  to  be  poor.  And  I'll  let 
you  know  they  are  not  going  to  be  poor,  either,  not  until 
after  I  die,  and  they  are  not  going  to  have  any  excuse 
for  being  poor  then,"  Mr.  Deane  finished  triumphantly. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

AT  the  Shady  Grove  Baptist  church  Richard  Sanders 
preached  on  the  text:  "For  he  that  soweth  to  his  flesh 
shall  of  the  flesh  reap  corruption." 

Late  Saturday  afternoon  Richard  and  Uncle  Peter  had 
received  news  by  the  grapevine  telegraph  that  it  would 
be  safe  to  come  back,  so  they  returned  in  the  night. 
There  had  been  some  scattering  talk  about  punishing 
them,  but  the  death  of  Ulysses  really  slaked  the  thirst  of 
the  mob  for  vengeance,  and  those  who  did  the  talking 
about  Richard  and  Uncle  Peter  were  merely  seeking  to 
impress  their  hearers  with  their  greater  devotion  to  the 
doctrine  of  white  supremacy,  it  seemed.  So  there  was 
thought  to  be  no  actual  danger  after  Friday  night. 

Whatever  Richard  may  have  felt,  he  was  shrewd 
enough  to  know  that  the  proper  keynote  for  him  to  strike 
was  reproof  of  his  people  for  their  carnality.  He  would 
be  understood  by  his  own  people,  the  sermon  might  do 
them  some  good,  and  any  news  of  it  filtering  to  the 
white  folks  would  make  a  good  impression  on  them. 

In  going  to  the  church  the  members  of  the  congrega- 
tion had  avoided  passing  through  town,  as  indeed  all 
Negroes  had  withdrawn  to  themselves,  avoiding  the  whites 
as  far  as  practicable,  since  the  lynching.  But  a  larger 
congregation  than  usual  was  gathered  for  the  services, 
which  were  held  in  the  afternoon.  That  arrangement 
had  been  made  by  Richard  for  the  convenience  of  sev- 
eral of  his  members,  who  were  cooks  for  white  people, 

211 


212  White  and  Black 

and  therefore  could  not  very  well  come  in  the  forenoon. 
Among  these  was  Cindy. 

She  sat  now  on  the  front  seat,  and  ogled  Richard  with 
fervor  and  admiration,  as  he  waxed  warm  in  his  de- 
nunciation of  sins  of  the  flesh.  Approval,  along  with 
perspiration,  exuded  from  her  every  pore,  as  she  fol- 
lowed the  discourse  with  emphatic  nods  of  her  head,  and 
now  and  again  with  audible  expressions  of  enthusiasm 
from  her  lips.  But  never  for  a  moment  did  it  enter 
her  mind  that  all  of  this  was  anything  else  except  just 
preaching.  Richard  Sanders  was  to  her  two  different 
individuals — inside  the  pulpit  he  was  a  preacher,  outside 
he  was  a  man.  In  her  opinion  he  acquitted  himself  as 
a  preacher  well,  and  she  was  beginning  to  entertain  hopes 
of  him  as  a  man.  Her  fancy  for  Cyrus  was  waning. 

Two  or  three  benches  farther  back  were  Joe  Williams 
and  his  family,  and  behind  them  Sally  Ramsey,  who  had 
forsaken  the  Methodists  since  the  advent  of  Richard. 
There  were  then  at  least  two  other  pairs  of  feminine 
eyes  besides  Cindy's  fastened  on  the  preacher  and  glow- 
ing with  thoughts  of  this  world  and  the  sweetness  thereof. 
But  of  the  three  women  only  Lucindy  Williams  never 
doubted  that  the  sermon  was  an  index  to  the  private  con- 
duct of  Richard.  Without  ever  having  heard  of  psy- 
chology, Sally  had  a  pretty  definite  idea  that  somehow 
or  other  Richard  would  probably  feel  after  such  a  ser- 
mon that  he  had  done  his  whole  duty  with  reference 
to  carnality  and  would  be  more  susceptible  to  the  proper 
advances.  While  Cindy  regarded  all  sermons  as  deliv- 
ered for  public  consumption  and  as  having  no  practical 
bearing  on  individual  behavior  outside  of  the  church. 

After  the  services  were  over,  Cindy  hurried  to  con- 
gratulate the  pastor.  "Dat  sho'  wuz  a  powerful  ser- 


White  and  Black  213 

mon,  Brother  Sanders,"  she  said.  "I  been  a-thinkin' 
and  a-thinkin'  'bout  you.  You  ain't  never  out  of  my 
mind.  You  preaches  so  hard,  and  you  don't  never  have 
no  fun,  a-studyin'  and  a-readin'  in  dem  books  all  of  de 
time.  Whyn't  you  come  to  see  folks  some  time?  I 
don't  never  have  nuthin'  to  do  after  eight  o'clock." 

"Thank  you,  Sister,  I  must  pay  more  attention  to 
pastoral  calls." 

"Dat's  right,  you  must.  Folks  wants  to  git  'quainted 
wid  you,  and  it  ain't  no  piece  from  Brother  Williams's 
house  to  mine,"  she  said  with  a  titter.  "I  been  enter- 
tainin'  preachers  all  my  life.  I  likes  'em,  and  dey  likes 
me." 

"Well,  I  shall  certainly  try  to  come,"  answered  Rich- 
ard, smiling. 

"Tuesday  night  will  be  a  good  time.  I'll  finish  up 
wid  de  supper  things  quick  an'  be  expectin'  you  'bout 
eight  o'clock." 

"God  willing,  Sister,  I'll  try  to  come,"  answered  Rich- 
ard. 

By  advantage  of  sheer  bulk  Cindy  had  warded  off  the 
other  members,  but  they  were  not  to  be  put  off  longer, 
and  attracted  Richard's  attention  by  pulling  at  his  sleeves. 
He  turned  to  this  side  and  that  to  receive  their  praise, 
saying,  "It's  not  me,  but  the  Lord  speaking  through  me. 
It  is  the  coal  from  the  altar  that  he  has  laid  on  my  lips." 

Joe  Williams  and  his  family  managed  to  surround 
him,  and  Joe  said,  "Brother  Sanders,  you  mus'  come 
home  wid  us.  Malviny  and  de  gals  has  laid  out  a  snack 
and  it's  dar  a-waitin'.  Lucindy  say  she  boun'  she  gwine 
to  show  you  whut  a  fried  chicken  is,  an'  I  got  two  de 
biggest  watermillons  you  ever  seen  a-layin'  up  in  de 
cool." 


214  White  and  Black 

"Nobody  could  resist  so  many  attractions,"  said  Rich- 
ard, looking  meaningly  at  the  girls.  Lucindy  dropped 
her  head,  giggled,  and  rubbed  the  toe  of  her  shoe  on  the 
floor. 

They  started  down  the  aisle  toward  the  door.  Sally 
stood  waiting  between  two  benches.  As  they  were  pass- 
ing, she  caught  the  tail  of  Richard's  coat,  and  gave  it  a 
gentle  tug.  To  her  face  she  held  a  beautifully  clean 
handkerchief,  from  behind  which  she  asked  brokenly, 
"Brother — Brother  Sanders,  lem'me  speak  to  you." 

"Excuse  me  a  minute,"  the  pastor  said  to  the  Wil- 
liamses,  as  he  turned  aside  between  the  two  benches  and 
suffered  Sally  to  draw  him  a  short  distance  apart  from 
the  others. 

"Oh,  B-B-Brother  Sanders,"  sobbed  Sally,  "I've  been 
a  sinner,  an'  I  can't  stand  it  no  mo'.  I  can't  stand 
to  think  about  it.  Whut  is  I  gwine  to  do?  Guide  me, 
lead  me,  B-B-Brother  Sanders." 

"Dearly  beloved  sister,  do  you  honestly  and  truly  re- 
pent of  your  sins?" 

"Oh,  B-B-Brother  Sanders,  I  c-can't  stand  it."  Sally 
caught  his  hand  fast  in  hers.  "He'p  me,  he'p  me." 

"Repent  and  believe  and  be  baptized,  that's  all,  that's 
all,"  said  Richard. 

"But  I  don't  know  how,  but  I  don't  know  how.  You 
mus'  tell  me.  You  must  set  right  down  an'  tell  me  now. 
Now  is  de  'cepted  time." 

Richard  glanced  around,  the  Williamses  were  waiting 
impatiently,  and  scorn  was  on  their  faces.  "Sister,  I 
must  go  now,  but  I  will  call  and  instruct  you." 

"No,  no,"  sobbed  Sally,  "my  folks  ain't  nuthin'  but 
Methodists.  I  must  come  hyeer.  I'm  comin'  to  preachin' 


White  and  Black 

to-night.  You  are  g-g-gwine  to  preach  agin  to-night, 
ain't  you,  Brother  Sanders?" 

"Yes,  and  perhaps  after  services  to-night — " 

"Oh,  kin  I  wait,  oh,  kin  I  wait  till  den?  Don't, 
don't  fail  me,  Brother  Sanders.  I  don't  know  whut  I 
would  do  if  you  wuz  to  fail  me.  Oh,  my  heart,  how  it 
hurts  me !  I  been  sich  a  sinner !" 

"I  won't  fail  you,  I  won't  fail  you,  my  sister,"  said 
Richard,  patting  her  shoulder. 

"I  kin  set  hyeer  a  while  and  think  about  my  sins, 
can't  I,  how  I'm  lost  and  ruint  widout  you,  widout  yo' 
he'p,  B-Brother  Sanders?" 

"Yes,  yes,  my  sister." 

"I  don't  speck  I'll  leave  hyeer,  till  you  come  back, 
Brother  Sanders." 

"Well,  I'll  hurry  back  to  comfort  and  console  you. 
Good-by,  now." 

"G-G-Good-by,  Brother  Sanders." 

When  Richard  rejoined  the  Williamses,  he  said  to 
Joe,  "Many  crowded  around  me  to  congratulate  me, 
but  my  message  seems  truly  to  have  found  lodgment  in 
the  heart  of  Sister  Sally  Ramsey.  She  is  deeply  peni- 
tent, and  I  really  think  it  is  my  duty  to  stay  here  with 
her." 

"Naw,  naw,  Brother  Sanders,  you  better  leave  her  by 
herse'f  for  a  while  now,"  said  Joe,  restraining  himself 
as  best  he  could  from  some  blasphemous  utterance. 

Malviny  and  the  girls  did  not  try  to  restrain  themselves 
from  audible  sniffs  of  scorn  as  they  cast  contemptuous 
glances  in  the  direction  of  Sally.  But  that  guileful  peni- 
tent's face  was  buried  in  her  handkerchief,  and  her 
shoulders  jerked  convulsively  with  sobs  of  contrition. 


216  White  and  Black 

After  the  snack  had  been  disposed  of  at  Joe's  house, 
he  said,  "Brother  Sanders,  come  wid  me  to  de  front 
room.  I  wants  to  talk  wid  you  whilst  Malviny  an'  de 
gals  cleans  up  de  dishes." 

In  the  front  room  Richard  asked,  "What  is  it,  Brother 
Williams?  I  really  think  I  ought  to  hurry  back  to  the 
church  to  instruct  Sister  Sally  Ramsey,  who  is  there 
alone  struggling  with  the  powers  of  darkness." 

"Naw>  .it's  best  to  let  her  struggle,"  said  Joe.  "We 
looks  to  you,  Brother  Sanders,  all  of  us  looks  to  you. 
An'  we  wants  to  know  whut  is  we  gwine  to  do  'bout  all 
dese  hyeer  things." 

"What  things,  Brother  Williams?" 

"Dese  lynchin's  an'  things  like  dat.  And  I  hyears 
dat  de  Ku  Kluxes  is  a-thinkin'  'bout  comin'  up  hyeer, 
too." 

"Well,  in  regard  to  the  lynchings,  I  say,  as  I  have 
said,  that  there  is  nothing  to  do  except  to  behave  our- 
selves. We  can't  do  anything,  and  whatever  we  try  to 
do  in  the  way  of  revenge  will  come  back  on  us.  We  are 
weak,  Brother  Williams,  we  are  weak,  and  the  white 
folks  are  strong.  The  Israelites  were  in  bondage  in 
Egypt  till  the  good  Lord  saw  fit  to  deliver  them." 

"Yaas,  Brother  Sanders,  but  is  we  Israelites?" 

"Perhaps  not  exactly,  but  the  Lord  will  guard  his 
own.  Brother  Ulysses  Mulberry  was  a  scoffer  and  a 
scorner,  anyway,  but  you,  for  example,  are  in  no  dan- 
ger of  being  lynched." 

"But  didn't  dey  come  mighty  nigh  to  gittin'  you  and 
Brother  Higgins?" 

"Yes,  but  the  Lord  was  with  us." 

"Yaas,  I  reckon  dat's  so,  but  from  all  I  kin  hyear, 


White  and  Black  217 

if  it  hadn't  ha'  been  for  Mr.  Will,  dey  would've  got 
you." 

"He  was  the  instrument  of  the  Lord,"  answered  Rich- 
ard, "but  what  our  people  must  do,  is  to  live  better  lives, 
learn  more,  and  increase  their  possessions." 

"You  sho'  is  a  sly  one,  Brother  Sanders." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"Dey  ain't  gwine  to  ketch  you  nappin'  on  no  part  of 
de  ground." 

"But  I'm  honest  and  sincere  in  what  I  say,"  answered 
Richard. 

"Of  c'ose,  of  c'ose,  Brother  Sanders,  but  whut  about 
de  Ku  Kluxes  if  dey  comes?" 

"The  same  thing,  let  us  behave  ourselves !"  said  Rich- 
ard, looking  about  restlessly  as  if  anxious  to  leave. 

"Hold  on,  wait,  Brother  Sanders,  does  you  reckon 
dey  gwine  to  treat  dese  white  folks  hyeer  de  same  way 
dey  been  a-treatin'  'em  in  other  places?" 

"They  say  they  are  going  to  make  everybody  keep  to 
his  own  color,"  answered  Richard. 

"Dat's  right,  dat's  right,  but  kin  dey  do  it,  Brother 
Sanders?" 

"Can  you  keep  a  secret,  Brother  Williams?" 

"Yaas,  yaas,"  answered  Joe  eagerly. 

"No,  they  can't  do  it." 

"Why  can't  dey?" 

"All  history  is  against  them." 

"How's  dat?" 

"Where  two  races  continue  to  live  side  by  side  in 
the  same  country,  either  the  less  numerous  race  is  swept 
aside  and  dies  out,  like  the  Indians,  or  it  is  absorbed, 
it  is  amalgamated  with  the  other,  like  the  Spaniards  in 
Mexico." 


21 8  White  and  Black 

"How  you  mean  'malgamated  ?" 

"They  mix  and  they  mix  till  finally  there  is  nothing 
left  but  the  mixture." 

"But  white  folks  and  niggers  ain't  never  gwine  to 
mix  in  no  sich  way  as  dat." 

"They  have  pretty  well  done  it  already  in  some  Cen- 
tral and  South  American  countries,"  answered  Richard. 

"But  if  dey  keeps  on  a-lynchin'  us — " 

"Lynchings  can't  stop  anything,  they  never  have.  And 
besides,  they  are  not  going  to  keep  on  lynching  them- 
selves, for  that  would  be  foolish.  And  the  main  bulk 
of  the  amalgamation,  if  it  ever  comes,  will  be  brought 
about,  so  the  authorities  say,  through  our  women.  This 
will  happen  unless  we  can  arouse  a  pride  of  race  in  our- 
selves to  match  the  pride  of  race  that  the  white  folks 
have.  If  our  women  thought  it  as  shameful  to  have 
mulatto  children  as  white  women  now  do,  then  the  races 
might  be  kept  separate  and  distinct.  But  there  is  great 
danger  in  preaching  racial  pride,  because  it  is  so  likely 
to  increase  racial  hostility,  and  that  should  certainly  be 
avoided  if  possible." 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Joe,  "'bout  all  of  dat,  but  it 
looks  to  me  like  if  de  white  men  didn't  bother  de  col- 
ored women  an'  de  colored  men  didn't  pester  de  white 
women,  we  could  all  git  along  all  right.  An'  dat's  whut 
I'm  in  favor  of  doin'." 

"You  are  right,  Brother  Williams,  and  that's  the  way 
of  peace.  But  there  will  always  be  white  men  who  will 
run  with  our  women,  and  some  of  our  women  will  al- 
ways be  proud  to  run  with  white  men." 

"If  any  of  my  women  folks  ever  do  it,  I'll  beat  'em 
mighty  nigh  to  death,  an'  dey  know  it,"  said  Joe. 


White  and  Black  219 

"And  as  a  rule  our  colored  men  would  rather  marry 
the  lightest-skinned  mulatto  women  they  can  find." 

"Not  me,"  said  Joe,  "you  see  Malviny." 

"Yes,  but  I'm  talking  about  the  rule.  We  are  trying 
to  get  away,  most  of  us,  from  the  black  all  of  the  time." 

"De  Lord  made  me  black.  Black  I  is,  an'  black  I  wants 
to  stay,"  said  Joe. 

"It  would  be  easier  for  us  if  we  were  all  that  way," 
answered  Richard,  "but  black  is  a  badge  of  contumely 
everywhere.  Whatever  we  do,  whatever  we  think,  what- 
ever we  feel,  whatever  we  know,  still  we  are  black,  and 
so  are  objects  of  scorn  to  every  white  man,  however 
ignorant  or  learned  he  may  be." 

"Of  c'ose  we  ain't  as  good  as  white  folks,"  said  Joe. 

"Perhaps  not,"  answered  Richard.  "But  I  must  be 
going,  Brother  Williams.  Tell  the  ladies  good-by  for 
me  and  thank  them  for  the  repast." 

"Don't  rush  off,  Brother  Sanders,  I'm  sho'  Lucindy 
wants  to  talk  wid  you  some." 

"No,  I'll  have  to  be  going."  He  picked  up  his  hat 
from  a  chair. 

"But  lem'me  ax  you  dis,  Brother  Sanders.  You  is 
a-workin'  to  make  us  better  Christians  an'  de  white  preach- 
ers is  a  workin'  to  make  de  white  folks  better  Christians, 
an'  if  you  does  any  good  an'  dey  does  any  good,  ain't 
it  boun'  to  be  so,  dat  white  and  black  will  git  further 
an'  further  apart,  'cause  dey  can't  marry  one  another, 
an'  dey  ain't  no  other  way  but  a  sinful  way  ?" 

After  a  moment  of  hesitation,  Richard  answered, 
"Yes,  that's  so,  Brother  Williams,  that's  so.  I  hadn't 
thought  of  that." 

On  his  way  back  to  the  church,  he  kept  saying  to  him- 


22O  White  and  Black 

self,  "It's  funny  I  hadn't  thought  of  that.  What  have 
I  not  suffered  on  account  of  being  black?  And  yet  my 
efforts,  so  far  as  they  are  good  and  so  far  as  they  are 
successful,  will  result  in  helping  forever  to  keep  black 
black,  and  white  white.  Unless — unless  that  law  against 
intermarriage  is  repealed,  and  it  won't  be  repealed,  and 
nobody,  black  or  white,  would  dare  to  advocate  its  re- 
peal. And  even  the  colored  folks  don't  want  everybody 
to  become  colored.  What  each  one  of  them  that  thinks, 
really  wants,  is  to  be  white,  white,  white!  Oh,  God! 
if  I  were  only  white !  It  is  a  wonder  to  me  that  any 
of  us  are  Christians,  that  we  can  love  a  God  that  has 
made  us  black ! 

"What  can  I  preach?  What  must  I  preach?  I  can 
preach  only  that  we  must  make  black  honorable  by 
greater  sobriety,  greater  fortitude,  greater  virtue,  but 
what's  the  use?  I  know  it  never  will  be  done.  The 
shadow  of  God's  anger  and  hatred  has  been  stamped 
upon  our  faces.  No,  no,  that  can't  be !  But  it  is  better 
that  God  should  have  brought  us  here  even  through  the 
bitter  waters  of  scorn  and  slavery  than  to  have  left  us 
to  be  naked  savages  in  the  jungles  of  Africa! 

"The  question  I  must  keep  before  myself  is,  How  can 
I  best  serve  my  people?  And  so  far  as  I  can  see,  it  is 
to  show  them  the  road  to  greater  economic  freedom,  and 
that  road  is  the  way  of  the  Gospel,  it  is  the  way  of  mutual 
helpfulness,  forbearance,  endurance.  Oh,  God,  if  only 
I  were  white !" 

When  he  entered  the  church,  he  saw  that  Sally  was 
not  in  the  place  where  he  had  left  her,  but  looking  around, 
he  discovered  her  on  one  of  the  front  benches  at  the 
side  of  the  pulpit.  She  was  leaning  over  with  her  face 


White  and  Black  221 

buried  in  her  hands.     "How  is  it  with  you  now,  Sister 
Sally?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  I  had  to  come  up  hyeer  to  de  mou'ners'  bench, 
Brother  Sanders,  I  can't  do  nuthin'  but  mou'n  an'  mou'n." 

"I  will  pray  with  you,  Sister  Sally." 

"No,  not  now,  not  yit,"  said  Sally.  "I  ain't  ready  yit. 
I  mus'  mou'n  an'  mou'n.  I  been  sich  a  powerful  bad 
sinner,  I  can't  do  nuthin'  but  mou'n,  mou'n." 

"But  surely  I  can  help  you." 

"No,  Brother  Sanders,  but  maybe  to-night  after  de 
preachin'  is  over,  maybe  den — I  know  I  got  to  hyear 
you  preach  agin." 

It  was  growing  dusk.  Other  members  of  the  congre- 
gation began  to  file  in.  Richard  went  to  the  door  to 
welcome  them,  and  then  lit  the  lamps,  which  were 
fastened  along  the  walls  and  behind  the  pulpit. 

After  the  services  which  included  a  special  prayer  for 
the  repentant  sister,  Sally  stubbornly  declined  consola- 
tion from  all  of  the  volunteers,  and  declared  that  she 
must  talk  with  Brother  Sanders,  that  he  alone  could  guide 
her.  When  the  others  had  gone,  she  said,  with  tears  in 
her  eyes,  "De  folks  at  home  will  be  a  wonderin'  where 
I  is,  Brother  Sanders.  An'  I'm  skeered  to  go  home  by 
myse'f.  Would  it  be  too  much  trouble  for  you  to  walk 
home  wid  me  an'  lem'  me  talk  to  you  on  de  way?" 

"No,  certainly  not.  As  soon  as  I  put  out  the  lights 
and  close  the  church,  I  will  go  with  you." 

It  was  dark.  They  walked  some  distance  in  silence* 
"Well,"  said  Richard,  "what  is  your  special  trouble, 
Sister  Sally?" 

"Hoi'  my  hand,  please,  Brother  Sanders,  it's  so  dark 
an'  I  done  cried  so  much,  I  can't  see  where  I'm  a-step- 
pin'." . 


222  White  and  Black 

Richard  took  her  hand,  and  they  walked  on. 

"Oh,  Brother  Sanders,  I'm  so  weak  I'm  'bleeged  to 
set  down  a  minute.  Will  you  go  back  or  will  you  stay 
wid  me?" 

"I  will  stay  with  you,  Sister  Sally." 

"Den  set  down  hyeer  by  de  side  of  me,  an'  lem'  me 
tell  you,"  she  nestled  up  close  to  him,  "an'  lem'  me 
tell  you,  don't  nobody  keer  nuthin'  about  me,  Brother 
Sanders.  An'  dey  all  cast  me  off,  till  I  hyeared  you 
preach.  An'  den  I  say  dere  is  a  man  whut's  got  a  heart 
in  him.  He'll  keer  somep'n  about  me  if  I  is  a  sinner." 

"Yes,  yes,  Sister  Sally." 

"An'  I  felt  like  I  want  to  put  my  head  on  yo'  breas' 
an'  my  arms  around  yo'  neck,  an'  say  take  me,  take  me, 
Brother  Sanders,  if  I  is  a  po'  sinner,  take  me  an'  show 
me  de  way." 

Sally  suited  her  actions  to  her  words.  She  threw  her 
arms  around  Richard's  neck,  and  rested  her  head  on  his 
breast,  murmuring,  "Take  me,  take  me,  Brother  Sanders, 
if  I  is  a  po'  sinner.  Oh,  I  is  sich  a  sinner,  oh,  Brother 
Sanders — " 

Afterwards,  when  Richard  had  conducted  Sally  to 
her  front  gate  and  left  her,  she  said  to  herself,  "Hunh! 
Cindy  an'  Lucindy  thinks  dey  is  so  smart!" 

Richard,  on  his  way  back  home,  kept  repeating  to  him- 
self, "Yes,  but  even  David  had  his  Bathsheba." 


CHAPTER  XXV 

THERE  was  no  formal  celebration  of  the  Fourth  in  Comp- 
ton.  During  the  War  and  the  two  following  years  more 
attention  had  been  paid  to  that  holiday  than  at  any  time 
since  the  Civil  War,  but  the  town  was  perhaps  relapsing 
into  its  former  apathy,  or  it  may  have  been  that  the 
lynching  had  something  to  do  with  the  lack  of  interest. 

The  bank  and  some  of  the  stores  were  closed  for  the 
day,  and  the  post-office  was  run  on  half  time.  A  few 
families  went  on  picnics  at  near-by  places  along  the  creek 
bank,  but  the  women,  especially,  felt  little  inclination  to 
go  far  into  the  woods.  The  feeling  of  unrest  or  un- 
easiness had  not  wholly  vanished  from  the  community. 

Brother  Maxcy  utilized  the  day  by  driving  in  his  buggy 
from  house  to  house  collecting  a  sum  of  money  for  Susie 
Senter.  On  the  morning  of  Tuesday,  the  fifth,  he  drove 
out  to  the  old  Benton  place,  and  delivered  a  hundred 
dollars  to  Mr.  Robertson,  saying,  "Will,  would  you  mind 
giving  this  money  to  Susie  ?  It  might  be  that  she  would 
not  like  to  see  me,  as  I  am  pretty  nearly  a  stranger  to 
her.  And  yet  I  think  I  ought  to  go  along,  since  it  may 
be  that  she  will  see  me,  and  I  may  be  able  to  comfort 
her.  All  of  us  thought  that  if  we  could  raise  some  money 
for  her,  she  might  be  able  to  take  a  little  trip,  which 
would  be  good  for  her." 

"Of  course,  I'll  be  glad  to  go,"  said  Mr.  Robertson, 
"Mamie  and  I  would  have  gone  before  now,  but  Dr. 
Anderson  said  it  would  be  best  to  wait  a  while." 

"Yes,  but  he  told  me  this  morning  it  would  be  all 

223 


224  White  and  Black 

right  for  you  and  me  to  go  to-day.  But,  oddly,  he  said 
he  thought  his  patient  could  not  yet  bear  to  see  any  of 
the  ladies,  else  my  wife  would  be  with  me." 

"Do  you  suppose  it  would  be  well  for  us  to  take  Bob  ?" 

"No,  no,  I  think  not,"  said  Brother  Maxcy.  "I  know 
she  couldn't  bear  to  see  Bob." 

"Well,  we  will  drive  in  your  buggy,  then,  on  the  road 
that  leads  through  the  farms  by  Uncle  Peter's  house. 
The  bridges  are  too  weak  for  the  automobile." 

On  the  way  Brother  Maxcy  asked,  "Will,  did  you  ever 
think  how  attractive  this  country  is  with  its  alternation 
of  hill  and  valley,  of  cleared  field  and  native  forest,  of 
farm  and  pasture?  I  remember  especially  how  lovely 
it  seemed  to  me  this  spring,  and  look  at  it  now." 

They  were  on  top  of  a  high  hill,  and  Mr.  Robertson, 
looking  around  on  all  sides,  said,  "Yes,  I  have  thought 
often  of  its  beauty,  but  I  had  a  notion  that  possibly  I 
was  biased  in  its  favor  because  I  loved  it  so." 

"And  yet  I  have  heard  that  you  think  of  leaving  it." 

"Yes,  I  have  a  good  offer  to  go  to  the  City  as  cotton 
buyer  for  the  firm  of  Green  &  Porter,  and  I  have  been 
considering  it." 

"Will,  do  you  know  that  you  are  the  best  loved,  man 
in  this  community — best  loved  by  both  white  and  black?" 

"No,  I  would  say  you  are  that,  Brother  Maxcy." 

"No,  I  am  a  stranger,  an  interloper,  and  at  best  I  can 
not  stay  here  longer  than  two  years  more,  and  then  I  am 
a  preacher.  But  you  are  one  of  them,  flesh  of  their 
flesh,  bone  of  their  bone.  And  a  man  can  not  lightly 
cast  aside  such  a  treasure  of  human  love.  It  entails  an 
obligation." 

"But,   Brother  Maxcy,   I — I   think  you   overestimate 


White  and  Black  225 

what  they  feel  for  me,  and — and  I  owe  an  obligation  to 
— Mamie  and  Bob,  and — and,  yes,  to  myself." 

"Let's  look  at  it,  Will.  The  most  that  you  are  likely 
to  accomplish  in  the  City  is  to  become  a  member  of  the 
firm,  which  will  be  more  or  less  a  sinking  of  your  iden- 
tity. Your  individuality  will  in  a  measure  be  lost.  You 
don't  care  enough  for  money,  thank  God,  ever  to  become 
largely  rich,  and  you  will  merely  be  one  of  many,  all 
pretty  much  alike  and  all  tending  to  become  more  and 
"more  alike  as  the  years  go  by." 

"Well,  there  may  be  something  in  that." 

"Yes,  there's  a  great  deal  in  that.  In  the  City  your 
light  will  be  hid  under  a  bushel  and  it  will  become  dimmer 
and  dimmer;  here  it  will  be  on  a  hill-top,  and  it  may 
become  brighter  and  brighter." 

"Thank  you  for  that,  Brother  Maxcy,  but  what  about 
Bob?  Here  with  all  of  these  nigger  girls  and  women 
about,  he  is  constantly  subject  to  a  temptation  that  may 
result  in  his  becoming  another  Mr.  Hiram  or  even  a 
Randy  Shallow." 

"No,  no,  he  can't  escape  temptations  of  that  kind  by 
going  to  the  City.  Temptations  here  and  there  must 
be  faced  and  overcome.  And  then  shall  we  leave  this 
country  that  you  say  you  love,  to  the  Randy  Shallows?" 

"But  then,  Brother  Maxcy,  I  haven't  made  any  money 
here  for  five  years,  and  the  farming  grows  less  and 
less  profitable  every  year." 

"I  have  thought  of  that.  I  have  seen  it.  I  have 
looked  about,  and  almost  the  only  people  who  have  made 
any  money  have  made  it  from  cattle.  Prices  are  low 
now,  but  such  is  the  best  time  to  get  into  that  business. 
I  hear  that  John  Ramsey  is  going  to  leave  you  at  the 


226  White  and  Black 

end  of  this  year,  anyway.  Why  wouldn't  it  be  a  good 
idea  for  you  to  transfer  Sim  Senter  to  your  home  place 
and  Joe  Williams  to  the  lower  place  ?  Farm  for  a  while 
on  the  lower  place  as  you  have  been  doing,  and  make  a 
cattle  ranch  of  the  home  place.  Get  good  stock.  Sim 
Senter  and  his  boys  could  raise  a  feed  crop,  and  you 
and  they  could  manage  the  cattle.  And  Bob  likes  cat- 
tle. Let  him  go  on  to  college,  and  if,  when  he  comes 
back,  he  wants  to  stay  here,  perhaps  you  will  have  a 
business  that  he  will  be  proud  to  stay  with.  If  not, 
why,  then  let  him  make  his  own  choice.  Had  you  ever 
thought,  Will,  what  a  great  service  it  would  be  to  show 
the  people  here  a  way  to  economic  freedom?  And  they 
are  your  people,  they  love  you." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,  Brother  Maxcy.  It  would  take 
a  lot  of  money  to  make  the  change,  to  buy  the  cattle 
and  so  on." 

"But  you  could  raise  that  money,  couldn't  you,  Will?" 
"Oh,  I  suppose  I  could  raise  it,  but  money  is  mighty 
hard  to  raise  now,  and  I'd  have  to  mortgage  something 
I  had  intended  never  to  mortgage." 

"And  then,  Will,  look  at  it  from  the  side  of  morals 
and  religion." 

"It  seems  almost  hopeless  from  that  side." 
"No,  no,  by  no  means.  Of  course  you  know  and  I 
know  that  neither  you  nor  I  nor  any  other  man  or  woman 
will  make  it  perfect.  But  any  of  us  can  make  it  bet- 
ter. We  can  help  some.  And  you  more  than  any  other 
man  here.  Improvement  is  bound  to  be  a  growth,  and 
though  my  metaphor  is  mixed,  it  is  spread  from  the 
contagion  of  example.  Dr.  Anderson,  you  know,  is  a 
good  enough  physician  for  any  city,  but  he  stays  here 


White  and  Black  227 

because  he  likes  the  freedom  of  the  country  and  be- 
cause he  likes  to  hunt  and  fish.  Can  you  not  stay  here 
because  you  love  the  place  and  the  people,  and  because 
the  people  love  you?  Oh,  Will,  I  swear  to  you  that 
the  greatest  satisfaction  you  will  ever  get  in  this  life 
will  come  from  that  love.  And  I  implore  you  not  to 
throw  it  away." 

Brother  Maxcy  paused  to  wipe  his  eyes,  and  then  con- 
tinued, "I  k&ow  I  am  intruding  into  your  private  af- 
fairs, but — but  I  know  you  know  I  wouldn't  do  it  if  I 
didn't  love  you.  And  then  we  are  likely  to  have  more 
trouble  than  ever  here.  The  Ku  Klux  Klan  is  setting 
about  the  organization  of  a  branch  here.  They  actually 
approached  me  yesterday,  and  what  do  you  suppose? 
They  told  me  that  the  Baptist  minister  had  agreed  to 
join!  I  don't  understand  that  unless  it  is  because  the 
organization  is  opposed  to  the  Catholics,  as  well  as  to 
the  Jews  and  the  niggers.  But  however  that  may  be, 
it  is  certain  to  stir  up  bitterer  feeling  among  our  peo- 
ple and  lead  to  new  outrages  of  many  kinds.  And  we 
can't  spare  you,  Will.  We  need  your  counsel  and  ex- 
ample. Don't  answer  me.  Don't  say  anything  now. 
Think  the  question  over." — In  a  changed  voice  he  said, 
"Here  we  are  at  Sim  Senter's,  anyway." 

Sim  met  them  at  the  door,  "Howdy,  Mr.  Will! 
Howdy,  Mr.  Maxcy!"  There  was  a  look  of  interroga- 
tion in  his  eye. 

"Sim,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  "we  have  brought  her 
something.  Would  she  like  to  see  us,  do  you  think?" 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Sim,  trying  to  swallow  his  tears, 
"maybe,  maybe  you,  Mr.  Will,  but — but — " 

"Hardly  me,"  said  Brother  Maxcy.     "I  know,  I  under- 


228  White  and  Black 

stand,  I'm  a  stranger  to  her.  I — I — I'm  the  representa- 
tive of  my  God,  and — and  I'm  a  stranger  to  all  of  you 
here." 

"Well,  Parson,"  began  Sim  apologetically,  "you  know, 
we  never  have  been  much  in  the  way  of  church-goers, 
and — and — " 

"Oh,  don't  apologize  to  me,"  said  Brother  Maxcy, 
"it's  my  fault,  I — I  could  go  down  on  my  knees  to  beg 
your  forgiveness.  I — I — have  never  come  near  you — 

"Maybe  you  better  go  in,  Sim,  and  ask  her,"  said  Mr. 
Robertson. 

"Naw,  Mr.  Will,  you  come  on  and  let  Mr.  Maxcy 
set  hyeer  on  the  po'ch,  and  maybe,  later — " 

"All  right,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  "lead  the  way,  Sim." 

When  they  came  to  the  room  where  Susie  was,  Sim 
said,  "Hyeer's  Mr.  Will,  honey,  come  to  see  you.  He 
says  he  hyeard  you  wuz  sick  an'  he  come  to  bring  you 
somethin'." 

"Oh,  Bob,  Bob's  not  hyeer,  not  Bob,"  cried  Susie, 
covering  her  face  with  her  hands  and  turning  to  the 
wall. 

"No,  honey,  Bob's  not  hyeer." 

"And  Miss  Mamie,  not,  not  Miss  Mamie?" 

"No,  honey,  they  ain't  nobody,  but  jes'  Mr.  Will." 

"I — I  came  to  bring  you  a  little  present,  Susie,"  said 
Mr.  Robertson. 

"Thank — thank  you,  Mr.  Will,"  she  said  without  un- 
covering her  face. 

"Don't  you  want  to  know  what  it  is,  Susie?  It  is 
a  nice  present." 

"What  is  it,  Mr.  Will?" 

"It  is  a  whole  hundred  dollars,  so  you  can  take  a  nice 
trip  somewhere  as  soon  as  you  get  better." 


White  and  Black  229 

"A  whole  hundred  dollars  for  me,  for  me!"  she  ex- 
claimed, taking  her  hands  from  her  face  and  raising  her 
head.  But  only  for  a  moment  was  there  joy  on  her 
countenance.  Listlessly  her  head  dropped  back  and  her 
hands  fell  on  the  cover,  "No,  Mr.  Will,  'tain't  no  use," 
she  said. 

"But  look  at  it,  Susie.  See,  it  is  a  great  big  roll  of 
bills.  There,  I'm  putting  it  in  your  hand.  Feel  it.  All 
that  money  is  for  you.  And  you  can  go  to  the  City,  any- 
-where  you  want  to  go,  and  get  well  and  strong  again. 
There,  take  it,  close  your  hand  on  it." 

"Th-thank  you,  Mr.  Will,  but  'taint  no  use.  Can't 
nuthin'  do  me  no  good  now,  Mr.  Will,  an' — an'  I've  done 
cried  myself  out,  Mr.  Will.  I — I  can't  cry  no  mo'. 
An'  you're  cryin',  Mr.  Will,  an'  I  can't  cry  no  mo'.  Ain't 
it  funny?  It  looks  like  I'm  the  one  that  ought  to  be 
cryin'." 

"But,  honey,  you  can  take  this,  and  we'll  add  a  lot 
more  to  it,  and  you  can  go  far,  far  way,  and  stay  till, 
till  you  get  well,  till  you  want  to  come  back." 

"No,  I  don't  want  to  go  anywhere." 

"Not  to  the  City?  Miss  Mamie  will  go  to  the  City 
with  you  and  you  can  go  to  shows  and  everything  and 
have  some  pretty  new  clothes  and  everything." 

"No,  no,  Mr.  Will,  I— I  couldn't  a-bear  that.  I 
couldn't  a-bear  for  Miss  Mamie  to  see  me.  I  jes'  want 
to  stay  hyeer  with  Mama  and  Papa  and  the  chillun. 
You  won't  mind,  Mr.  Will,  if  I  jes'  stay  hyeer,  will 
you?" 

"No,  honey,  I  won't  mind,  but — " 

"S'pose  I  wuz  to  go  somewhere,  and  Bob  wuz  to  see 
me,  s'pose  them  town  women  wuz  to  see  me,  I — I'd  die, 
Mr.  Will." 


230  White  and  Black 

"No,  no,  they'd  love  you,  Susie,  they'd  be  kind  to  you, 
they'd  love  you — " 

"Ai-ee!  ai-ee!"  screamed  Susie.  "Oh,  Harry.  Oh, 
Papa!" 

"Catch  her  arm  there  quick,  Mr.  Will,"  said  Sim,  as 
he  grasped  her  other  arm.  "She  tries  to  fling  herself 
out  of  the  bed.  She's  been  havin'  these  spells  ever  since 
she  came  to,  Friday  evenin',  but  she  didn't  have  none 
last  night  and  to-day  till  now." 

Mrs.  Senter  came  into  the  room.  "What  air  we  goin' 
to  do,  Mr.  Will?  What  air  we  goin'  to  do?"  she  en- 
treated. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know!  I  don't  know.  But  she  must 
have  no  more  company.  She  must  not  be  excited.  I'll 
take  the  children  to  my  house  and  keep  them  for  you. 
Let  Harry  hitch  up  the  wagon  this  evening  and  bring 
'em  over.  You  and  Sim  must  be  spared  to  watch  in 
here.  Is  there  any  white  woman  we  can  get  to  cook  for 
you?  I  would  send  Cindy,  but  Susie  might  not  by  any 
possibility  want  to  see  a  black  face." 

"Waal,  I  don't  know,  suh,  maybe — " 

"Get  some  fresh  water  now  and  sponge  Susie's  face 
with  it;  keep  on,  till  she  comes  to.  I  want  to  speak  to 
Brother  Maxcy." 

Out  on  the  porch  he  said,  "Brother  Maxcy,  what  white 
woman  do  you  think  we  could  get  to  stay  here  a  while 
and  relieve  Mrs.  Senter?" 

"I  know  one  and  a  mighty  good  one,"  answered 
Brother  Maxcy. 

"Who?" 

"Mrs.  Maxcy." 

"Oh,  this  would  be  so  hard  and  unpleasant  for  her." 

"Well,  sometimes  she  is  hard  on  me  and  on  sinners," 


White  and  Black  231] 

said  Brother  Maxcy,  "but  I've  never  yet  heard  of  her 
turning  her  back  on  people  in  distress." 

"It  would  be  lovely  if  she  could  come." 

"She  will  be  here  this  afternoon;  I'll  bring  her." 

"Well,  Harry  is  to  bring  the  children  over  to  us,  and 
I  must  caution  you.  Sister  Maxcy  mustn't  go  into 
Susie's  room.  Susie  can't  bear  to  see  any  strangers." 

"I'll  tell  her.  She  will  understand  that,"  said  Brother 
Maxcy.  "But  how  is  Susie?  I  heard  her  screaming." 

"I  think  it  will  be  a  miracle  if  she  gets  well  and  keeps 
her  mind,"  answered  Mr.  Robertson.  And  then  he  added 
with  a  profound  sigh,  "After  all,  it  might  be  better  for 
her  never  to  get  well." 

For  some  time  on  the  way  home  Brother  Maxcy  and 
Mr.  Robertson  had  little  to  say.  Each  was  busy  with 
his  own  thoughts,  Brother  Maxcy's  mind  being  occu- 
pied mainly  with  formulating  such  a  statement  of  the 
Senters'  situation  to  his  wife  that  she  would  readily 
understand  the  necessity  of  coming  to  their  relief,  and 
Mr.  Robertson  was  pondering  the  events  of  the  past 
week  and  his  own  connection  therewith,  and  wondering 
whether  he  could  have  guarded  against  them.  But  now 
and  then  his  thought  would  glance  toward  the  future 
with  vague  speculaton  as  to  the  outcome  of  it  all. 

Brother  Maxcy's  mind  must  have  wandered  somewhat, 
too,  for  he  interrupted  a  long  silence  to  say,  "Will,  in 
what  I  said  about  the  Ku  Klux  I  did  not  mean  to  con- 
vey the  idea  that  I  thought  it  was  a  thing  that  would 
last  very  long  or  that  it  was  a  matter  of  great  impor- 
tance. It  is  unreasonable  to  believe  that  our  people  will 
not  soon  recognize  the  misguided  folly  of  trying  to  im- 
prove folks  morally  by  unlawful  deeds  of  violence." 

"Yes,  I  understood,"  answered   Mr.   Robertson.     "I 


232  White  and  Black 

think  also  that  it  is  a  temporary  complication  that  will 
soon  pass.  Or  it  may  be  that  it  will  come  out  in  the 
open  at  last,  and  really  act  as  a  helpful  influence  in  the 
enforcement  of  the  law  and  the  determination  of  the 
right  relations  between  the  races.  I  think  it  would  be 
a  fine  idea  to  have  a  non-partizan,  non-sectarian  organ- 
ization of  men  who  are  really  interested  in  the  enforce- 
ment of  the  law  through  the  regularly  elected  officers 
and  in  the  promotion  of  racial  purity  and  the  uplift  of 
both  races.  But  membership  in  the  organization  should 
not  be  secret  or  exclusive.  And  it  should  encourage  its 
members  to  study  the  race  question,  and  should  award 
substantial  prizes  for  the  best  suggestions  looking  toward 
its  solution.  It  seems  to  me  that  a  world  of  good  might 
be  accomplished  in  such  a  way.  The  main  trouble  with 
us  all  now,  I  think,  is  that  we  don't  know  what  to  do. 
And  it  is  characteristic  of  ignorance,  whenever  it  acts, 
to  flare  into  violence." 

"Spoken  like  a  statesman  and  a  Christian !"  exclaimed 
Brother  Maxcy.  "I  would  be  one  of  the  first  to  join 
such  an  organization." 

"I,  too,  should  like  to  be  a  member,"  said  Mr.  Robert- 
son. "But,  oh,  dear  me,  poor  little  Susie !" 

"Yes,  indeed,"  said  Brother  Maxcy,  "her  case  is  such 
a  frightfully  concrete  thing." 

"It  is  too  horrible  to  think  of,"  said  Mr.  Robertson, 
"and  yet  we  can  not  get  it  out  of  our  minds,  and  we 
feel  that  we  ought  not  to  get  it  out.  We  ought  to  go 
on  thinking  about  it  until  we  find  some  way  to  prevent 
such  things." 

The  preacher  in  Brother  Maxcy  spoke,  "The  grace  of 
God  through  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ  is  the  only  and  suf- 
ficient remedy." 


White  and  Black  233 

"I  say  it  respectfully,  reverently,"  answered  Mr.  Rob- 
ertson, "but  this  has  happened  in  spite  of  your  remedy." 

"Oh,  we  are  all  so  weak  and  frail  and  futile,  dull  of 
understanding  and  hard  of  heart,  why  can  we  not,  why 
will  we  not,  accept  the  teachings  of  our  Saviour?" 

"That  is  bigger  than  the  race  question,"  said  Mr.  Rob- 
ertson, "and  you  know  as  much  about  it  as  I  do,  or  per- 
haps far  more." 

"Yes,  pardon  me,"  said  Brother  Maxcy,  "I  realize 
that  it  sounds  like  the  merest  cant." 

"No,  no,  I  didn't  mean  that,  Brother  Maxcy,  but 
time  and  again  I  go  over  in  my  mind  this  question,  What 
if  Susie's  assailant  had  been  white?  What  then? — The 
answer  is,  so  far  as  I  can  unravel  it,  that  he,  too,  would 
probably  have  been  lynched,  but  not  so  certainly,  and 
at  any  rate  not  with  such  violence  of  fury.  And  then 
I  think  further,  that  if  it  were  discovered  here  that 
a  nigger  was  living  with  a  white  woman  with  her  con- 
sent, he  would  probably  be  lynched,  almost  certainly 
would  be,  while  a  white  man  may  live  openly  with  a 
nigger  woman  under  the  penalty  only  of  moral  reproba- 
tion and  a  certain  degree  of  social  ostracism.  What  we 
seem  most  bent  on  doing  is  the  preventing  of  racial 
contamination  through  our  women.  And  that  we  will 
prevent  at  all  hazards.  And  I  confess  that  it  goes  might- 
ily against  my  grain  to  stand  up  for  the  orderly  proc- 
esses of  the  law  in  such  cases." 

"Let's  be  honest  about  the  thing,  and  go  further,"  said 
Brother  Maxcy;  "if  a  white  man  should  outrage  a  nigger 
woman,  he  almost  certainly  would  not  be  lynched.  He 
would  certainly  not,  or  in  all  probability  not,  be  lynched 
by  white  men.  And  if  niggers  should  attempt  to  lynch 


234  White  and  Black 

him,  he  would  almost  as  certainly  be  defended  by  other 
white  men." 

"Yes,  that's  so,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  "one  reason  being 
that  few  would  believe  an  outrage  had  really  been  com- 
mitted, and  another  being  that  we  can  not  have  niggers 
lynching  white  men.  That  we  can  not  permit.  We  feel 
that  white  supremacy  must  be  maintained,  or  that  we 
shall  all  be  engulfed  in  a  sea  of  black.  But  I  suppose 
it  is  as  in  nearly  everything  else;  we  make  a  concession 
to  the  passions  of  the  dominant  men.  Yet  I  declare  to 
you  that  personally  I  would  not  have  put  myself  out  so 
much  to  save  from  the  fury  of  a  mob  a  white  assailant 
of  Susie  Senter  as  I  did  to  save  from  it  Ulysses  Mul- 
berry. But  perhaps  it  is  because  I  feel  that  we  have 
a  right  to  expect  better  self-control  from  a  white  man 
than  from  a  nigger,  and  of  course  I  felt  sure  that  the 
law  would  adequately  punish  Ulysses  if  he  were  really 
guilty.  There  might  be  one  chance  in  a  thousand  for  a 
white  man  to  escape  just  punishment  for  such  a  crime 
against  a  white  woman,  but  practically  none  for  a  nigger." 

"But  did  you  ever  hear,  Will,  of  a  nigger  man  lynched 
or  executed  for  the  rape  of  a  nigger  woman?" 

"No,  I  never  did.  I  think  I'll  ask  Judge  Mowry  some 
time  if  there  have  been  such  cases. — But  I  was  just 
thinking.  You  know,  three  or  four  years  ago,  we  were 
protesting  mightily  against  the  migration  of  the  niggers 
to  the  North.  Well,  that  may  have  been  the  best  thing. 
The  solution  of  the  question  may  lie  in  scattering  them 
all  over  the  country  instead  of  having  them  congested 
in  one  section." 

"Well,  after  all,"  said  Brother  Maxcy,  "the  revival 
of  the  Ku  Klux  Klan  is  in  the  main  a  protest  against 
the  amalgamation  of  the  races.  We  can't  keep  from 


White  and  Black  235 

sympathizing  with  that  aim,  although  we  look  with  horror 
and  detestation  upon  the  outrages  perpetrated  by  them 
in  trying  to  carry  it  out." 

"Yes,  and  all  the  more  so,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  "be- 
cause we  know  that  such  methods  are  bound  to  result  in 
the  spread  of  anarchy  in  every  direction.  If  unchecked^ 
they  will  make  of  our  America,  the  land  of  the  free,  in 
reality  a  land  of  hidden  tyranny  and  secret  assassination. 
Surely,  surely,  our  people  can  not  fall  to  that,  either 
through  impatience  with  the  law's  administration,  race 
antagonism,  or  religious  bigotry — or  through  all  three 
combined !  Surely  we  have  advanced  beyond  that.  Did 
it  ever  occur  to  you,  Brother  Maxcy,  that  maybe  the 
church  hasn't  done  its  part?  That  somehow  we  have 
had  a  right  to  expect  more  of  it  than  we  have  received?" 

"Oh,  Will,  I  have  prayed  and  wept  over  that.  Oh, 
my  God,  the  church  is  afraid.  It  cowers  trembling  be- 
fore the  power  of  Mammon,  but  it  is  not  dead.  Oh, 
thank  God,  it  is  not  dead!  It  will  arise,  it  will  gird 
itself  for  the  contest.  It  will  cleanse  itself,  so  that  it  may 
indeed  and  in  truth  look  up  to  God,  not  through  vio- 
lence, not  through  a  mist  of  blood,  but  through  the  clear 
ether  of  love  and  self-sacrifice !" 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE  next  day  Mr.  Robertson  was  surprised  when  he 
went  to  town  to  find  Henry  Thompson  sitting  in  the 
front  door  of  his  store,  he  was  so  rarely  there.  And 
still  more  was  he  surprised  when  Henry  said,  "Will, 
would  you  mind  coming  to  the  back  of  the  store?  i 
want  to  have  a  little  talk  with  you." 

When  they  were  seated  behind  the  bookkeeper's  stand- 
ing-desk, Henry  began,  "Will,  you  know  about  Mirandy. 
Everybody  does.  I've  been  living  with  her.  We  have 
got  children." 

"Yes,"  said  Mr.  Robertson. 

"I've  heard  that  the  Ku  Klux  Klan  is  coming  here. 
And  I'm  skeered.  In  a  way  I'm  skeered.  What  do  you 
think  about  it?" 

"Well,  Henry,  I — I  hardly  know.  It  is  a  delicate  mat- 
ter." 

"Yes,  it  is  delicate,  all  right,  I  reckon,  but  spit  it  out, 
Will.  I  can  stand  it.  You  know  I  don't  say  much.  I 
never  was  much  of  a  hand  to  talk,  but  I've  listened  a 
lot." 

"Well,  Henry,  I  think  you  ought  to  stop  living  with 
Mirandy." 

"Oh,  for  that  matter  you  think  I  ought  never  to  have 
begun." 

"Yes,  I  think  you  ought  never  to  have  begun." 

"But  I  did  begin,  it  is  not  necessary  to  talk  about 
why,  and  I  have  kept  on.  Everybody,  I  know,  looks 
on  me  as  a  low  down  dog.  And  I  reckon  I  am.  But 

236 


White  and  Black  237 

wouldn't  I  be  worse  than  that  to  cut  loose  from  Mirandy 
and  turn  her  adrift  now?" 

"You  could  put  her  and  the  children  on  a  farm  some- 
where, and  help  them  along  until  they  could  take  care  of 
themselves." 

"And  then  everybody  would  say  that  I  got  skeered 
of  the  Ku  Klux  and  ducked  for  cover." 

"Well,  it  wouldn't  make  so  much  difference  what  every- 
body said,  would  it?" 

"You  mean  they've  said  a  plenty  about  me  already 
and  I've  stood  it,  knowing  that  I  was  wrong?" 

"Henry,  I  don't  want  to — " 

"You  don't  want  to  hurt  my  feelings,  you  don't  want 
to  act  as  a  judge  over  me.  I  know  that,  but  I'm  asking 
you.  I'm  bringing  it  on  myself.  Don't,  don't  push  me 
off,  Will.  It  is  all  I  can  do  to  hold  my  courage  up  to 
— to  ask  you.  You  don't  know  how  hard  this  is  for  me. 
I — I  am  a  timid  man,  I've  always  been,  oh,  I  don't 
know — "  Henry  wiped  the  tears  from  his  cheek  with 
his  bent  forefinger  and  flipped  the  moisture  to  the  floor. 

"Henry,  don't  you  think  you  could  settle  Mirandy  and 
the  children  on  a  farm,  as  I  suggested?" 

"No,  no,  Will,  I  couldn't.  I've  got  to  confess  it.  I — 
I — I  couldn't  git  along  without  Mirandy.  I  know  what 
you  think  I  am,  but — but  I  couldn't." 

"Well,  then,"  said  Mr.  Robertson  coldly,  "the  only 
thing  I  see  you  can  do,  is  to  move  to  some  other  country 
or  to  some  other  part  of  this  one  where  intermarriages 
are  not  forbidden,  and  there  marry  Mirandy.  I  don't 
advise  that,  but  I  don't  know  what  else  you  can  do." 

"No,  Will,  I  don't  know  anything  about  them  other 
countries  or  them  other  people,  and  it's  too  late  for  me  to 
git  used  to  'em.  I  want  to  stay  here." 


238  White  and  Black 

"Well,  if  your  mind  is  made  up  to  stay  here  and  to 
keep  on  living  with  Mirandy,  I  don't  see  why  you  wanted 
to  ask  me  about  it,"  said  Mr.  Robertson. 

"But,  Will,  don't  you  see?  I— I  jus'  had  to — to  tell 
somebody — all  these  years,  and  I — I  couldn't  say  a  word, 
it  looks  like—" 

"And  now  you  want  to  talk  to  me  because  you  are 
scared  ?" 

"No,  no,  Will,  it's  not  altogether  that.  I — I've  been 
thinking — believe  me,  it's  not  altogether  that.  I — I've 
been  thinking  a  long  time  that — that  I  ought  to  do  some- 
thing. I  jus'  haven't  known  what  was — was  right  to  do." 

"I've  told  you  what  I  think  is  right  for  you  to  do," 
said  Mr.  Robertson,  "and  I  don't  know  anything  else 
to  tell  you." 

"But,  I  can't  do  that,  Will.  Mirandy,  if  she  is  black, 
has  got  some  feelings,  too.  And — and  she  has  been 
faithful  to  me,  and  I  owe  her  something." 

"Well,  take  her  up  North  and  marry  her,  then." 

"But  she  don't  want  to  go.     She  wants  to  stay  here." 

"I  don't  see  how  I  can  help  you,  Henry." 

"No,  I  don't  reckon  you  can.  I  reckon  I  was  wanting 
sympathy.  I  reckon  I  couldn't  stand  it  no  longer  with- 
out talking  to  somebody.  Well,  I've  talked.  And  I 
haven't  got  nothing.  I  don't  deserve  nothing,  I  reckon. 
That's  all  right.  If  you  can't  do  nothing  for  me,  ain't 
nobody  else  can.  I  don't  hold  it  against  you,  Will.  I 
see  I'll  have  to  take  keer  of  myself  the  best  way  I  can. 
But  if  anybody  comes  pestering  around  me,  Ku  Klux  or 
anybody  else,  somebody  is  going  to  git  hurt.  Bear  that 
in  mind,  Will,  somebody's  going  to  git  hurt." 

"Yes,  I  believe  that,  Henry.     I  hope  nobody  will  bother 


White  and  Black  239 

you.  Will  you  let  me  say  that  I — I  think  you  have — 
have  trouble  enough  as  it  is?" 

"Great  God!  Will,  if  only  I  never  had — and — and 
I  kinder  drifted  into — and — and  I  never  could  git  over 
it — north,  south,  anywhere.  There  ain't  no  use,  it  will 
stay  with  me  always,  follow  me  anywhere.  And  the 
hell  of  it  is  that  if  I  hadn't  done  it  so  openly — " 

"There,  there,  Henry,  I'm  sorry,  but — " 

Randy  Shallow's  voice  was  heard  from  the  front  of 
the  store,  "Mr.  Hiram,  is  Henry  here  ?  I  want  to  see 
him  about  them  cattle." 

"Yes,  I  think  he  is  back  there,  talking  to  Mr.  Will 
Robertson,"  answered  Mr.  Hiram. 

Randy  came  back.  When  he  saw  Henry  and  Mr.  Rob- 
ertson in  such  close  conference,  he  said,  "Well,  Mr. 
Will,  I  didn't  know  your  credit  was  gittin'  in  such  bad 
shape  as  that,"  and  laughed. 

"Will's  credit  is  better  than  yours'll  ever  be,  Randy," 
said  Henry  angrily. 

"But  what  are  you  all  broke  up  about,  Henry?"  coun- 
tered Randy.  "I  don't  smell  no  Ku  Klux  around  here, 
ha,  ha,  ha !" 

"Shut  your  damn  mouth!"  exclaimed  Henry. 

"Did  you  want  to  see  me?"  asked  Mr.  Robertson. 

"No,  I  wanted  to  see  Henry  about  them  cattle  he  was 
talkin'  about  buyin'  from  me." 

"I  don't  want  none  of  your  cattle,"  answered  Henry, 
"now  or  no  other  time." 

"Hunh,  I  must  ha'  put  my  foot  in  it,"  said  Randy.  "I 
didn't  know  you  was  skeered  of  the  Ku  Klux  sho'  'miff, 
ha,  ha,  ha!" 

"Well,  are  you  going,  or  ain't  you?"  asked  Henry 
threateningly. 


240  White  and  Black 

"Oh,  I'm  a-goin',  all  right,"  answered  Randy  with  a 
grin,  "but  I'll  probably  see  you  again  before  long." 

Henry  looked  at  him,  but  said  nothing.  He  sauntered 
out  of  the  store  whistling  between  his  teeth. 

"And  to  think,"  said  Henry,  turning  to  Mr.  Robert- 
son, "he's  a  damn  sight  more  respectable  than  I  am,  and 
everybody  knows  he's  got  nigger  chillun  scattered  all 
over  these  hills  around  here.  But  acknowledge  'em  and 
take  keer  of  'em? — No,  he  don't  do  that.  If  he  was 
to  do  that,  he  wouldn't  be  respectable  at  all." 

"Well,  you  know,  Henry,  Shakespeare  said,  'Assume 
a  virtue,  if  you  have  it  not.' " 

"And  that's  about  as  far  as  most  of  'em  in  these 
parts  ever  git,"  replied  Henry.  "If  you  was  to  strip 
off  all  of  the  assumin'  that's  done  around  here,  wouldn't 
you  have  a  pretty  kittle  of  fish?" 

"Well,  I  imagine  the  same  thing  is  true  pretty  much 
everywhere  else,"  said  Mr.  Robertson.  "If  we  all  knew 
the  whole  truth  about  everybody,  and  everybody  knew 
the  whole  truth  about  us,  it  might  be  too  disheartening. 
And  there  is  a  sort  of  agreement  that  we  will  respect  the 
other  feller's  pretenses,  if  he  will  respect  ours." 

"And  that  respecting  is  what  makes  respectability/' 
said  Henry. 

"As  distinguished  from  genuine  goodness,  yes — but 
there  are  genuinely  good  people,  Henry." 

"Yes,  I  reckon  so,"  answered  Henry,  "anyhow  we'll 
let  that  pass.  Anyway,  I'm  much  obliged  to  you,  Will. 
Somehow  I  feel  better.  I  reckon  it  helps  a  feller  to 
talk  a  thing  out  sometimes." 

"Yes,  it  does,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  "but  I'll  have  to 
be  going.  I  wanted  to  see  Dr.  Anderson  this  morning. 
I  hope  you  won't  have  any  trouble,  Henry." 


White  and  Black  241 

"I'll  take  keer  of  myself,  thank  you,  Will. — But,  by 
the  way,  how  do  you  feel  about  buying  that  little  place 
of  mine  over  there  by  Uncle  Peter's  and  the  nigger 
church  that  Mr.  Hiram  spoke  to  you  about?  You 
needn't  pay  any  cash  at  all.  I'll  take  your  note  for  the 
whole  thing,  three  or  five  years,  what  do  you  say?" 

"Oh,  I  hardly  know,"  said  Mr.  Robertson.  "It's  a 
good  trade  all  right.  I'll  think  about  it.'  ' 

On  his  way  to  the  doctor's  office  Mr.  Robertson  met 
Bob  in  front  of  the  drug  store.  He  asked,  "Bob,  have 
you  seen  Mr.  Deane  this  morning?" 

"No,  Papa." 

"Well,  when  I  first  came  to  town,  I  saw  him,  and  he 
told  me  that  Mrs.  Deane  was  getting  up  a  forty-two 
party  for  the  young  folks  to-morrow  night,  and  he  asked 
me  to  tell  you  to  be  sure  to  come." 

"No,  Papa,  I  don't  think  they  like  me  around  there 
any  more." 

"What  makes  you  think  that?" 

"Oh,  I  just  don't  think  they  do,"  said  Bob,  confusedly. 

"Well,  you  are  wrong  about  that,  because  when  I 
asked  Mr.  Deane  what  girl  you  should  bring,  he  kinder 
laughed  and  said  none,  that  they  had  a  girl  for  you 
there." 

"Oh,  did  he?"  asked  Bob  with  some  eagerness. 

"He  certainly  did,  and  I  can't  conceive  of  any  reason 
why  they  shouldn't  want  you,  or  why  you  think  they 
don't." 

"No,  but  I  thought  Mrs.  Deane  acted  like  she  was  mad 
at  me  last  Sunday.  I  was  talking  to  Minnie,  and  Mrs. 
Deane  came  and  jerked  her  away  like  I  was  poison." 

"Oh,  that's  all  foolishness,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  "she 
was  just  in  a  hurry  to  get  home.  And  I  hear  that  she 


242  White  and  Black 

and  Mr.  Deane  didn't  like  the  sermon  much.  Among 
other  things  they  thought  Brother  Maxcy  ought  to  have 
let  each  of  us  decide  for  ourselves  whether  we  were  fit 
to  take  the  Sacrament  or  not." 

"I'm  glad  he  didn't,"  said  Bob  without  thinking. 

"Why?"  asked  Mr.  Robertson  suspiciously. 

"Well — well,"  answered  Bob,  "I  don't  know,  but  I 
sorter  think  we  wouldn't  have  felt  right  about  taking 
it,  and  yet  we  would  have  hated  to  make  ourselves  con- 
spicuous by  not  taking  it." 

"I'm  glad  to  know  you've  done  some  thinking  about 
it,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  "but  you  will  go  to  the  party?" 

"Yes,  Papa,  I'll  go,"  said  Bob,  turning  away. 

As  his  father  walked  toward  Dr.  Anderson's  office, 
Bob  said  to  himself,  "Gee!  I  had  to  come  mighty  close 
to  straight  out  lying.  I've  got  to  be  more  careful." 

And  his  father  was  thinking,  "Somehow  there  is  a 
change  in  Bob  here  lately,  and  it  is  not  a  change  for  the 
better  " 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

AT  the  party  Thursday  night,  when  all  had  been  as- 
signed to  their  respective  tables  for  the  domino  game  of 
forty-two,  Bob  said  to  Minnie,  who  was  his  partner, 
"I  don't  see  Jasper,  junior,  here  to-night.  Where  is  he?" 

"Oh,  he  went  off  this  evening  to  hunt  cattle  with 
Jerry,  our  married  brother,  and  he  hasn't  come  back 
yet.  I  told  him  not  to  go,  that  he  would  be  late,  but  he 
said  he  had  to  go,  and  not  to  wait  for  him  if  he  didn't 
get  back  in  time." 

"Looks  like  he  could  have  waited  until  to-morrow," 
said  Bob. 

"Yes,  that's  what  I  thought,"  said  Minnie,  "but  noth- 
ing would  do  him  except  to  go." 

Bob  began  to  shuffle  the  dominoes.  Minnie  joined  in 
so  that  her  hand  touched  Bob's,  and  she  looked  at  him 
shyly,  letting  him  know  that  the  touch  was  not  accidental. 
Her  eyes  seemed  to  say,  "See,  I  think  you  are  worthy 
to  touch  me." 

Bob  lifted  his  hand  and  laid  it  on  hers.  "Hunh!  look 
here,  everybody,"  called  Tom  Parker,  one  of  their  op- 
ponents in  the  game.  "Bob  and  Minnie  are  playing 
hands  till  we  can't  get  a  chance  to  play  forty-two.  Ha ! 
ha!  ha!" 

"We're  not,"  declared  Minnie,  blushing  furiously. 

Bob  stammered,  "I— I— I—" 

All  of  the  young  people  laughed  uproariously,  so  that 
Bob  and  Minnie  had  an  uncomfortable  five  minutes. 

243 


244  White  and  Black 

At  last  Bob  managed  to  say,  "Come  on,  let's  play  the 
game." 

Tom,  taking  mercy  on  him,  said,  "All  right,"  and  the 
game  began. 

The  old  folks  regarded  forty-two  as  proper,  because 
it  was  played  with  dominoes  instead  of  cards,  and  the 
young  people  liked  it  because  it  was  really  a  card  game, 
though  played  with  dominoes.  Some  facetious  person 
of  the  community  called  it  Methodist  poker,  since  it 
was  commonly  regarded  as  allowable  for  even  preach- 
ers to  play  it. 

Mrs.  Deane  walked  about  from  table  to  table,  offer- 
ing suggestions  to  the  less  experienced  players.  And 
Mr.  Deane  sat  out  on  the  front  porch  waiting  for  the 
refreshments,  which  were  to  consist  of  ice  cream,  cakes, 
and  fruit  punch.  As  the  first  game  was  finished,  and 
the  players  were  in  the  act  of  progressing  from  one  table 
to  another,  Mrs.  Deane's  negro  cook  came  rushing  in, 
her  eyes  almost  bursting  from  their  sockets,  "Lawd,  Miss 
Miriam!"  she  cried,  "de  Ku  Kluxes  is  hyeer!  Dey 
marchin'  thoo  de  town.  My  boy,  Billy,  done  tol'  me. 
Whut's  we  gwine  to  do?" 

Mr.  Deane  hurried  in  from  the  porch,  "What's  that, 
Nancy?  What's  all  that  foolishness?" 

"Lawd,  Mr.  Jasper,  de  Ku  Kluxes  is  a-marchin'  thoo 
de  town  right  now.  Hide  me,  hide  me,  white  folks, 
hide  me !" 

"Shut  up!"  said  Mr.  Deane,  "go  back  to  the  kitchen. 
The  Ku  Klux  are  not  going  to  hurt  you." 

"Naw,  suh,  naw,  suh,  Mr.  Jasper,  please  lem'  me  stay 
in  hyeer.  Uh — uh — uh,  Mr.  Jasper — " 

"Well,  stay  in  here  then,  I'm  going  to  see  about  this." 

"Let's  all  go  see,"  said  one  of  the  boys.    And  before 


White  and  Black  245 

Mrs.  Deane  could  recover,  to  make  effective  objection, 
the  whole  party  rushed  into  the  street,  and  headed  for 
the  public  square,  laughing,  but  with  a  feeling  of  some- 
thing like  mysterious  fear  beneath  the  laughter. 

They  found  Nancy's  report  to  be  true.  Straight 
through  the  town  was  marching  a  long  line  of  men,  in 
single  file,  and  swathed  in  white  from  head  to  toe.  In 
the  lead  was  a  rider  on  horseback,  bearing  a  flaming 
cross.  Behind  him  walked  a  white-robed  pedestrian  car- 
rying an  American  flag,  and  then  came  the  others  afoot, 
some  with  torches  that  illuminated  placards  borne  by 
their  companions.  The  placards  read,  "America  100% 
American,"  "Boot-Leggers  Hunt  Your  Holes,"  "Hypo- 
crites Beware,"  "The  White  Man  On  Top  Forever," 
"We  Want  No  Mulatto  Babies,"  "Niggers  Mind  Your 
Step." 

Silently  the  procession  wound  its  length  along,  and 
silently  the  spectators  watched  in  an  open-mouthed  hush. 
When  the  last  of  the  spectral  marchers  had  disappeared, 
the  weird  stillness  was  broken  by  a  babble  of  whisper- 
ing voices.  "Who  were  they?" — "Where  did  they  come 
from?" — "I  recognized  that  high  feller  with  the  stoop." 
—"Did  you  read  those  placards ?"— "Well,  I  never!"— 
"What  do  you  reckon  they  are  going  to  do?" — "Some 
folks  had  better  look  out." — "How  did  all  these  people 
get  together  so  quick?" 

Indeed,  it  did  seem  that  all  of  the  inhabitants  of  the 
town  were  gathered  as  spectators,  but  it  was  a  greater 
wonder  still  how  there  could  be  so  many  of  the  Ku  Klux, 
variously  estimated  from  one  to  five  hundred  by  the 
amazed  on-lookers. 

"Fools!"  said  Mr.  Deane,  "they'll  git  the  niggers  all 
stirred  up  and  restless,  so's  they'll  work  even  less  than 


246  White  and  Black 

usual.  Well,  I'm  glad  that  I  have  raised  my  boys  with 
too  much  sense  to  fall  in  with  anything  like  that." 

As  the  young  people  went  back  to  the  Deane  home, 
they  were  agitated  by  many  different  feelings.  Tom 
Parker  was  thinking,  "I  wonder  if  I  couldn't  get  into 
that  gang,  even  if  my  pa  is  sheriff.  I  don't  see  why  I 
couldn't  get  in  as  well  as  some  of  the  other  fellers." 

One  of  the  girls,  blushing  and  giggling,  whispered  to 
Minnie,  "Did  you  see  that  placard,  'We  Want  No  Mulatto 
Babies'?" 

"Yes,"  said  Minnie,  "wasn't  it  awful?  They  ought 
not  to  allow  such  things.  They  ought  to  be  ashamed." 

"That's  what  they  say,"  whispered  the  other  girl,  gig- 
gling even  more  immoderately,  "they're  not  going  to 
allow  'em." 

"Smarty!"  said  Minnie,  "hush  up.  They'll  be  asking 
us  what  we  are  giggling  at." 

"Anh — anh — anh,  what  are  you  girls  giggling  at?" 
jeered  little  Willie  Deane. 

"Nothing,"  answered  Minnie. 

"Oh,  but  I  know,"  said  Willie. 

"Shucks!  you  don't  know  anything,"  answered  the 
girl. 

"Never  mind,"  retorted  Willie,  "I  know  what  I  know, 
all  right — yanh — yanh — yanh !" 

Much  to  his  dismay,  Bob  found  himself  in  the  re- 
turning throng  side  by  side  with  Mr.  Deane,  who  asked, 
"Well,  Bob,  what  did  you  think  of  it?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir,"  said  Bob. 

"Well,  I  think  they  are  all  powerful  big  fools.  How 
would  you  like  to  be  one  of  'em,  hey?" 

"I  wouldn't  like  to  be,"  said  Bob. 


White  and  Black  247 

"Some  of  you  young  fellers  around  here  had  better 
mind  your  step,  hey?" 

"Yes,  sir,  I  expect  they  had." 

"Well,  I  don't  want  you  or  any  of  my  boys  to  go  play 
the  fool  and  join  in  with  that  gang." 

"No,  sir,  we  are  not  going  to,"  answered  Bob,  and 
deftly  managed  to  get  some  of  the  others  between  him 
and  Mr.  Deane,  and  to  rejoin  Minnie. 

"Wasn't  it  awful,  Bob?"  she  said. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  answered  Bob,  "it  wasn't  much 
to  get  excited  about." 

"It  wasn't!     Why,  I'm  just  trembling  all  over." 

"Just  some  ordinary  fellers  around  here  with  sheets 
on  'em,"  said  Bob. 

"But  what  do  you  reckon  they  are  going  to  do?" 

"Scare  some  niggers,  I  reckon." 

"Well,  there  are  some  white  folks  that  will  be  scared, 
too,  I  expect." 

"Shucks !"  said  Bob,  "I'd  like  to  know  who'd  be  scared 
of  that  gang." 

Jared  Peters  overheard  Bob's  last  remark,  and  said 
mockingly,  "Oh,  Bob's  so  brave,  ain't  he?  He  ain't 
skeered  of  nothing." 

"Well,  are  you  scared,  Jared?"  asked  Bob.  "If  you 
are,  stand  out  there  and  let  me  hear  your  teeth  chatter." 

"Hunh !  I  know  somebody  whose  teeth  better  be  chat- 
tering," retorted  Jared. 

"Who  is  that?"  demanded  Bob  hardily. 

"Well,  never  mind,  them  fellers  mean  business.  They 
ain't  goin'  to  stand  any  foolishness." 

"How  do  you  know  so  much  about  'em?" 

"Well,  never  mind,  I  know  all  about  'em." 


248  White  and  Black 

"Maybe  Jared  has  been  listening  somewhere,"  said 
Minnie,  and  after  a  slight  pause  added,  "as  usual." 

"Well,  if  you'd  listen  around,  maybe  you'd  learn  some- 
thing, too,"  answered  Jared,  and  snickered. 

"There's  one  funny  thing,"  said  Minnie,  "I  didn't  see 
Mr.  Tony  Peters  in  the  crowd  of  on-lookers,  did  you, 
Bob?" 

"No,  I  didn't  see  him  anywhere,"  answered  Bob. 

"Oh,  he  was  out  of  town  to-night,"  declared  Jared, 
moving  away. 

"You  know,  I  believe  we've  got  one  of  'em  spotted," 
said  Minnie. 

"Yes,"  said  Bob,  "and  I'd  like  to  know  who  would  be 
scared  of  Mr.  Tony  Peters  except  some  nigger  that  owes 
him  money." 

Then  they  reached  the  house.  On  their  coming  into 
the  light,  the  chatter  became  louder  and  more  general. 
All  joined  in  giving  Mrs.  Deane  a  glowing,  but  con- 
fused, account  of  the  spectacle.  Into  the  midst  of  the 
babble  came  Jasper,  junior,  dressed  in  his  every  day 
clothes.  "What's  all  the  row  about?"  he  asked. 

They  vied  with  each  other  in  going  over  again  the  de- 
tails of  the  exhibition  and  in  describing  their  feelings, 
most  of  the  girls  representing  themselves  as  being  all 
tremors  and  excitement,  and  most  of  the  boys  affecting 
indifference  and  condescension.  Jasper,  junior,  listened 
with  an  expression  of  sly  amusement,  and  egged  the 
others  on. 

"But  my !  Jasper,  junior,  it  took  you  and  Jerry  a  long 
time  to  attend  to  those  cattle,"  finally  said  Mrs.  Deane. 
"You'd  better  go  and  put  on  your  Sunday  clothes." 

"Well,  we  had  to  hunt  a  long  time  before  we  found 
'em,"  said  Jasper,  junior,  "and  it  was  just  our  luck  to 


White  and  Black  249 

miss  seeing  the  Ku  Klux,"  but  he  smiled  quizzically  and 
gesticulated  with  his  left  hand.  Then  he  added,  "I  don't 
see  much  use  of  dressing  up  now,  it  must  be  almost  ten 
o'clock." 

"Why,  so  it  is!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Deane.  "I'll  serve 
the  refreshments  and  we  can  talk.  And  if  they  want  to 
play  a  game  or  two  afterwards,  it  will  be  all  right." 

"Minnie,  how  did  Jasper,  junior,  lose  his  little  finger? 
It  seems  funny,  but  I  never  did  hear,"  said  Bob. 

"Well,  we  had  a  rooster  that  crowed  too  much  to 
suit  Jasper,  junior,  so  one  day  he  slipped  up  and  caught 
the  rooster  and  was  going  to  cut  its  head  off  with  a 
hatchet.  He  was  holding  it  down  on  a  block,  and  some 
way  the  rooster  twisted  or  something,  and  Jasper,  junior, 
cut  off  his  own  little  finger,  and  let  the  rooster  go.  But 
next  day  he  shot  it  with  a  pistol." 

While  the  refreshments  were  being  eaten,  Mrs.  Deane 
stood  by  Bob's  table,  and  took  occasion  to  say,  "Well, 
Bob,  I  haven't  had  a  chance  to  talk  to  you  to-night.  But 
what  did  you  think  about  the  Ku  Klux  ?" 

"Well,  I  think  they  are  a  bad  thing,"  said  Bob. 

"Oh,  do  you,"  asked  Mrs.  Deane,  "and  why?" 

"Well,  Papa  says  they  are  bound  to  cause  trouble  and 
hard  feeling  and  probably  bloodshed." 

"So  that's  what  your  Papa  thinks,  but  I  was  wonder- 
ing how  you  feel  about  'em." 

"Oh,  I  don't  expect  to  have  anything  to  do  with  'em," 
said  Bob. 

"From  what  I  read  in  the  papers,"  she  answered,  "it 
looks  like  they  kinder  push  themselves  on  people  some- 
times, though." 

Tom  Parker,  at  an  adjoining  table,  laughed,  "They 
sure  do,  Mrs.  Deane,  but  if  they  push  themselves  on  me, 


250  White  and  Black 

they've  got  to  do  some  fast  pushing.  I'd  get  up  and 
hump." 

"Well,  I  reckon  I'd  do  about  the  same  thing,"  said 
Bob,  blushing,  but  grateful  to  Tom  for  the  intervention. 

"But  they  tell  me  that  they  never  get  after  anybody 
that's  been  good,"  said  Mrs.  Deane. 

"Well,  they'll  be  certain  to  let  Bob  and  me  alone,  ha! 
ha!  ha!"  said  Tom. 

"Tom,  I  think  you'd  like  to  join  'em,"  said  Mrs.  Deane 
with  exasperation  in  her  tone. 

"Sure  thing,"  said  Tom,  "I'd  join  'em  in  a  minute,  if 
they'd  let  me." 

"And  what  about  you,  Bob?" 

"No'm,  I  don't  think  Papa  would  like  it,  and — " 

"When  it  ain't  Mama  with  Bob,  it's  Papa,"  said  Tom 
teasingly. 

"Well,  it  would  be  better  if  you  were  the  same  way, 
Tom,"  said  Mrs.  Deane  with  a  gleam  of  satisfaction  in 
her  eyes. 

Later  she  said  to  Mr.  Deane,  "Jasper,  I  don't  know, 
Bob  may  be  a  pretty  good  boy,  after  all." 

"I  always  told  you  he  was  good  enough,  but  not  much 
of  a  worker,"  snorted  Mr.  Deane. 

On  the  way  home  that  night  Bob's  first  thought  was, 
"Outside  of  Minnie,  the  Deanes  are  certainly  disagree- 
able people.  They  seem  to  think  I  belong  to  'em,  and 
they  keep  on  poking  questions  at  me  till  I  don't  have 
any  rest." 

And  then  he  thought,  "Suppose  the  Ku  Klux  were  to 
get  after  a  feller,  sho'  'miff!  But,  shucks!  they  ain't 
going  to  do  anything."  ; 

Still  his  mind  kept  running  on  the  same  idea,  and  the 
night  was  dark  and  lonesome.  When  he  came  to  the 


White  and  Black  251 

creek  bottom  with  its  dank  woods  on  each  side  of  the 
road,  he  urged  Saladin  to  a  gallop.  And  it  was  not  until 
he  had  climbed  the  hill  and  turned  in  at  the  big  gate, 
that  his  tension  relaxed  into  a  feeling  of  relief.  As  he 
rode  slowly  along  the  avenue  of  pecan  trees,  drowsiness 
overtook  him.  "Gee !  I'm  sleepy,"  he  muttered.  But  in 
the  midst  of  a  yawn  he  suddenly  became  aware  of  the 
approach  of  a  horseman.  His  mouth  snapped  to  au- 
tomatically, and  cold  chills  ran  along  his  spine. 

"Is  that  you,  Bob  ?"  asked  a  voice. 

"Y-y-yes,"  stammered  Bob. 

"Did  you  see  the  Ku  Klux?" 

"Y-y-yes,  sir." 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!"  came  a  laugh  that  Bob  recognized  as 
Dr.  Anderson's. 

"Oh,  shucks !  Dr.  Anderson,  you,  you — "  But  an- 
other alarming  idea  occurred  to  him,  "Is  anybody  at 
our  house  sick?" 

"No,  but  don't  ever  tell  me,  Bob,  that  you  are  not 
scared  of  the  Ku  Klux." 

"Well,  I — I  wasn't  thinking  about  meeting  anybody," 
said  Bob. 

"No,"  said  Dr.  Anderson,  becoming  serious,  "but  Susie 
Senter  is  much  worse,  and  I've  been  by  to  tell  your 
father  about  it.  I  expect  you'd  better  go  in  to  see  him 
before  you  put  your  horse  up." 

"Is  she  much  worse?"  asked  Bob. 

"Yes,  she's  a  whole  lot  worse,"  answered  Dr.  Ander- 
son, "I  don't  think  she  will  ever  get  well.  It's  a  pitiful 
thing.  But  good  night,  Bob." 

"Good  night,  doctor." 

When  Bob  came  into  the  sitting-room,  his  father  said, 
"Dr.  Anderson  has  been  here,  and  has  told  me  that  Susie 


252  White  and  Black 

Senter  will  hardly  live  beyond  to-morrow  or  next  day. 
I've  been  thinking  about  it,  and  I  believe  the  only  thing 
to  do,  is  to  warn  the  sheriff  to  take  Madison  Mulberry 
out  of  our  jail  to  another  county,  probably  to  the  City 
would  be  best.  Have  you  put  up  Saladin?'' 

"No,  sir,  Dr.  Anderson  told  me  I  had  better  see  you 
first.  I  met  him  in  the  avenue." 

"Well,  I  think  I  ought  to  ride  over  to-night  and  wake 
up  the  sheriff.  It  might  not  be  necessary,  but  if  Susie 
dies  and  Madison  is  here,  there  is  no  telling  what  might 
happen." 

"Did  Dr.  Anderson  tell  you  about  the  Ku  Klux?" 
asked  Bob. 

"Yes,  he  told  me  they  marched  through  the  town." 

"Papa,  if  you  are  going  over  there  to-night,  let  me 
go  with  you." 

"You  are  not  afraid  the  Ku  Klux  will  get  me,  are 
you?"  asked  Mr.  Robertson,  smiling. 

"No,  not  exactly,"  said  Bob,  "but  if  you  don't  mind, 
I'd  rather  go  with  you." 

"Well,  thank  you,  son,  we'll  go  and  saddle  my  horse." 

"Let  me  get  our  guns,"  said  Bob,  "they  are  downstairs 
here  in  the  closet  under  the  stairway." 

"Oh,  all  right,  if  they'd  make  you  feel  better,  but  we 
won't  need  'em.  And  I  reckon — no,  I'd  better  go  up 
and  tell  your  mother.  I  know  she  hasn't  gone  to  sleep, 
with  you  out.  She  went  up  more  than  an  hour  ago  to 
put  the  Senter  children  to  bed,  and  I  suppose  she  de- 
cided to  undress  and  lie  down.  All  those  children  keep 
her  pretty  busy  during  the  day." 

"I'll  go  saddle  the  horse  while  you  tell  her,"  said  Bob. 

When  it  was  explained  to  Mrs.  Robertson  that  there 
was  no  danger,  that  they  were  merely  going  to  tell  the 


White  and  Black  253 

sheriff  to  remove  Madison,  in  order  to  prevent  the  proba- 
bility of  another  lynching,  she  gave  a  reluctant  consent 
to  their  going,  but  Mr.  Robertson  didn't  say  anything 
to  her  about  the  Ku  Klux. 

When  they  reached  the  sheriff's  house  and  waked  him* 
he  came  out  half  dressed  and  sleepy.  Mr.  Robertson, 
explained  their  errand  to  him. 

"Shucks!  Will,  I  ought  to  have  told  you,  I  reckon,'* 
he  said,  "but  I  got  tipped  off  that  the  Ku  Klux  were 
going  to  march  to-night,  and  I  took  Madison  to  the 
City  last  night  without  saying  anything  about  it  to  any- 
body except  my  deputy  who  went  with  me.  I  thought 
it  was  best  to  be  on  the  safe  side." 

"Good  boy,  Rod!"  said  Mr.  Robertson.  "I'm  sorry 
I  disturbed  you." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,  Will,  but  it's  a  pity  you  had  to 
come  way  over  here  this  time  of  night." 

"Well,  Dr.  Anderson  has  just  told  me  that  Susie 
Senter  will  probably  not  last  beyond  to-morrow  or  next 
day." 

"Phew!  I'm  glad  I've  got  Madison  out  of  the  way," 
said  the  sheriff.  "Oh,  but  it's  a  hell  of  a  thing  for  that 
poor  little  girl  to  have  to  die.  Damn  those  infernal  nig- 
gers!" 

"Yes,  Sister  Maxcy  and  Dr.  Anderson  did  all  they 
could,  and  Brother  Maxcy  has  been  there  most  of  th& 
time,  helping  around  on  the  outside.  But  didn't  any- 
thing do  any  good." 

"Sister  Maxcy  is  really  a  good  woman  in  spite  of 
her  sharp  tongue,  ain't  she,  Will?" 

"She  is  that!"  answered  Mr.  Robertson.  "But  good 
night,  Rod." 


254  White  and  Black 

"Good  night,  Will, — and  Bob,  I  hadn't  hardly  noticed 
you,  you're  gettin'  to  be  a  regular  man  now,  ain't  you  ? — 
But  good  night,  both  of  you." 

"Good  night,  Mr.  Rodney,"  answered  Bob,  his  breast 
swelling  with  pride  at  the  compliment.  It  was  something 
worth  while  to  be  told  by  the  sheriff  that  you  were  get- 
ting to  be  a  regular  man. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

EARLY  Saturday  morning  Sim  Senter  came  by  the  old 
Benton  place.  Mr.  Robertson  hurried  oat  to  meet  him, 
and  asked,  "How  is  she  this  morning,  Sim?" 

"She  died  last  night,  Mr.  Will,  and  I'm  on  my  way  to 
git  the  coffin  now.  I  thought  I'd  come  by  and  tell  you/' 
his  lips  twitched,  and  tears  ran  down  his  cheeks. 

"Do  you  want  me  to  go  with  you,  Sim  ?" 

"Well,  I  thought  maybe  if  you  and  Miss  Mamie  could 
come  and  help  me  to  pick  out  the  coffin — and,  and,  we 
didn't  have  nuthin'  fittin'  to  bury  her  in,  and  my  wife  has 
got  to  have  somethin'  to  wear  to  the  funeral." 

"Don't  worry  about  that,  Sim.  Sister  Maxcy  sent  us 
word  by  Brother  Maxcy,  and  Mamie  and  some  of  the 
other  ladies  spent  yesterday  in  getting  and  making  the 
things  for  Susie  and  for  Mrs.  Senter,  too.  They  are  in 
the  house  now." 

"Thank  you,  thank  you  kindly,  Mr.  Will.  I  know  we 
never  kin  pay  back  all  the  folks  have  done  for  us.  They 
have  been  so  good.  Ever'body  has.  All  the  people  out 
our  way  has  been  wantin'  to  set  up  with  us,  an'  do  ever'- 
thing  they  could.  But  couldn't  nobody  do  no  good." 
He  broke  down  and  wept. 

"There,  there,  Sim,  that's  all  right  I'll  go  with  you 
and  help  you  select  the  coffin." 

"It  would  be  all  right,  don't  you  think,  Mr.  Will,  for 
me  to  use  that  money  you  and  Brother  Maxcy  brought 
out  there?" 

"Of  course  it  would,  that's  the  way  the  people  would 

255 


256  White  and  Black 

want  you  to  use  it.  If  it's  not  enough,  we'll  make  up 
what's  lacking." 

"No,  no,  it  will  be  enough,  but  I  reckon  I  ought  to 
tell  you  Harry  used  some  of  it." 

"What  did  he  use  it  for?" 

"Waal,  he  wanted  to  join  the  Ku  Klux,  and  he  didn't 
have  no  money,  and  it  took  ten  dollars  to  join  an'  six 
dollars  for  the  robes  an'  things,  so  he  used  sixteen  dol- 
lars. I  don't  know  if  I  ought  to  say  anything  about 
it,  but  I  reckon  I  ought  to,  too." 

"My  God !  what  did  he  want  to  join  the  Ku  Klux  for?" 

"Waal,  he  said  he  thought  he  owed  it  to  Susie." 

"Owed  it  to  Susie !" 

"Yas,  and  then  he  don't  like  it  much  about  that  Rich- 
ard Sanders  harborin'  that  nigger  that  night.  He  says 
they've  took  Madison  off,  but  Richard  is  hyeer  yit." 

"But  great  God!  Sim,  didn't  I  tell  you  that  Richard 
was  merely  keeping  him  to  hand  him  over  to  the  offi- 
cers?" 

"Yas,  and  I  told  Harry  that,  but  it  never  did  seem  to 
take  on  him,  somehow." 

"Now,  look  here,  Sim,  we've  got  to  stop  that  thing. 
We  can't  have  any  more  trouble  like  that.  Did  you  tell 
Harry  that  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Richard,  we  might  never 
have  caught  Ulysses?" 

"Naw,  I  never  did  tell  him  that." 

"Well,  you  tell  him  that.  It's  a  fact.  Suppose  Rich- 
ard had  told  him  to  keep  a-running  and  had  helped  him 
on  his  way.  We  might  never  have  caught  him." 

"Yas,  but  Harry  thinks  mebbe  Richard  did  tell  him 
that  and  tried  to  git  him  to  run,  but  he  was  too  skeered, 
and  we  was  too  hot  on  his  trail." 


White  and  Black  257 

"Now,  Sim,  you  know  we've  got  to  stop  that  thing, 
and  are  you  going  to  help  me  or  not?" 

"Whut  kin  I  do,  Mr.  Will?" 

"You  can  do  more  with  Harry  than  anybody  else 
can." 

"Yas,  that's  so,  but  if  the  Ku  Klux  git  Richard  San- 
ders, won't  none  of  us  be  to  blame.  It  won't  be  no 
business  of  ours." 

"Oh,  Sim,  can't  you  see  that  the  whole  thing  is  our 
business  ?" 

"Waal,  Mr.  Will,  I  always  did  say  it  about  you,  that 
you  took  too  much  on  yourself.  You  borry  other  folks's 
troubles." 

"Oh,  Sim,  Sim,  can't  you  see? — But  you  will  do  the 
best  you  can  to  hold  Harry  back,  won't  you?" 

"Yas,  I'll  do  the  best  I  kin,"  said  Sim  doubtfully. 

"Well,  let's  go  and  get  the  coffin,"  said  Mr.  Robertson 
impatiently.  "You  can  come  back  by  here  and  take  the 
things  Mrs.  Robertson  has  for  you." 

"Mr.  Will,  I  don't  want  you  to  think  I  ever  will  forgit 
whut  you  all  have  done  for  us." 

"Well,  the  best  way  for  you  to  show  it,  is  to  try  to 
help  us  keep  down  further  trouble,"  said  Mr.  Robertson 
shortly.  "But  we  will  go  on  to  town  and  see  Mr.  Hiram. 
He  will  attend  to  the  grave  and  everything." 

"Yas,  it's  funny,  ain't  it,  Mr.  Will,  how  he  takes  all 
the  funerals  on  hisself?"  said  Sim. 

"He  has  got  a  big  heart,"  answered  Mr.  Robertson, 
"and  he  feels  that's  the  one  way  he  can  help  folks." 

"Yas,  for  rich  or  po'  he'll  see  to  the  grave-diggin', 
and  never  a  cent  for  his  trouble.  Can't  nobody  keep 
from  likin'  Mr.  Hiram." 


258  White  and  Black 

When  they  reached  town  and  acquainted  Mr.  Hiram 
with  the  sad  news,  he  said,  "Poor  little  thing,  so  she  had 
to  die,"  and  his  voice  broke.  "But  you  will  let  me  see 
to  the  grave-diggin'  and  everything,  won't  you,  Sim  ?" 

"Thank  you,  thank  you  kindly,  Mr.  Hiram.  We 
thought  we'd  have  the  funeral  Sunday  evenin'  'bout  three 
o'clock.  Dr.  Anderson  said  she'd  keep  that  long,  an' 
it's  jus'  bustin'  her  mama's  heart  in  two  to  give  her  up," 
and  Sim  sobbed  aloud. 

"There,  there,  Sim,"  said  Mr.  Hiram,  "I'll  see  that 
the  notices  are  gotten  out,  and  the  flowers  and  the  hearse 
and  the  pall-bearers  and  the  grave  dug.  Mr.  Will,  when 
you  go  back,  tell  John  Ramsey  to  come  on  over  here. 
He's  not  much  good  at  anything  else,  but  he's  the  best 
grave-digger  in  the  county." 

Two  hours  later  at  the  cemetery,  John  Ramsey,  under 
the  direction  of  Mr.  Hiram,  had  marked  off  the  grave 
and  showed  his  helper,  the  negro  deaf  mute  named 
Handy,  where  to  begin  digging.  Before  sticking  in  his 
own  spade,  he  paused  to  wipe  the  sweat  from  his  face 
•with  a  soiled  bandana  handkerchief,  and  said,  "Mr. 
Hiram,  me  and  you  has  put  lots  of  folks  away,  ain't 
we?" 

"Yes,  we  have,  John." 

"But  we  ain't  never  put  away  nobody  like  dis  bef o' !" 

"No,  thank  God,  and  I  hope  we  may  never  have  to  do 
it  again,"  said  Mr.  Hiram. 

"I  don't  see  whut  makes  some  niggers  so  low  down," 
said  John.  "I  don't  never  have  no  trouble  wid  de  white 
folks.  An'  whut  good  do  it  do?  Ulysses  done  got 
hiss'ef  burnt  up,  an'  whut  dey  gwine  to  do  to  Madison 
yit,  ain't  nobody  knows." 


White  and  Black  259 

"Yes,  that's  so,  John." 

"I  say  a  nigger  is  a  nigger  jes'  like  a  mule  is  a  mule, 
an'  dey  ain't  no  way  to  make  a  horse  outen  him.  You 
kin  let  his  mane  an'  tail  grow,  so  he  looks  somep'n  like 
a  horse,  an'  sometimes  he  gits  some  of  de  ways  of  a 
horse,  but  mmck-unh,  look  out,  de  fust  thing  you  know, 
he  done  give  hisse'f  away,  an'  he  ain't  nuthin*  but  jes" 
plain  mule." 

"Yes,  there's  a  lot  of  truth  in  that,"  said  Mr.  Hiram. 

"Waal,  dey's  one  thing,"  said  John,  "I  never  did  like 
dat  Madison  nohow.  I  never  did  want  to  have  no  truck 
wid  him,  but  he  kep'  on  a-shovin'  dem  shotes  on  me 
twell  I  'greed  to  buy  'em.  An'  hyeer  jus'  de  yuther  day 
come  along  a  feller  an*  say  Mr.  Senter  kin  git  dat  money 
out  of  me  ag'in,  'cause  it  wuz  stolen  property,  when  I 
done  already  paid  Madison.  How  *bout  dat,  Mr. 
Hiram?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  think  there  is  any  need  to  worry  about 
that,  John.  Everybody  has  too  much  else  to  think  about 
now." 

"An'  hyeer  come  de  Ku  Kluxes  an*  ever'thing,  an'  it 
looks  sorter  like  in  a  way  it  all  runs  back  to  dem  shotes," 

"No,  John,  it's  hard  to  tell  how  far  anything  runs 
back.  If  Madison  hadn't  been  the  kind  of  nigger  he 
was,  or  if  Ulysses  had  been  different,  or  if  Mr.  Senter 
hadn't  had  the  shotes,  or  if  there  had  been  no  such  thing 
as  the  Nineteenth,  or  if  Madison  had  had  some  money, 
or  if  our  forefathers  hadn't  wanted  slaves — oh,  you  never 
can  find  the  real  beginning  of  anything !" 

"Dat's  sho'  de  truth,  Mr.  Hiram.  I  never  had  thought 
about  dat.  An'  den  you  never  kin  tell  whar  nuthin's 
gwine  to  end,  neither.  Maybe  we  gwine  to  have  lots  mo* 
trouble  yit." 


^60  White  and  Black 

"Well,  I  hope  not,"  said  Mr.  Hiram.  "I  hope  things 
will  quiet  down  now." 

"Yassuh,  but  ain't  Mr.  Will  talkin'  a  whole  lot  'g'inst 
dem  Ku  Kluxes?" 

"What's  that  got  to  do  with  it?" 

"Nuthin',  I  reckon,  but  it  looks  to  me  like  dis  is  a 
good  time  to  keep  yo'  mouf  shet." 

"But  I  don't  think  you  can  ever  do  that,  John,"  said 
Mr.  Hiram,  smiling. 

"Nunck-unh,  Mr.  Hiram,  dey's  a  lot  of  things  dis  nig- 
ger ain't  never  gwine  to  say  nuthin'  'bout  befo'  de  Jedg- 
ment  Day,  an'  Mr.  Gabriel  gwine  to  have  to  press  him 
mighty  hard  den,  haw !  haw !  haw !" 

"You  ought  not  to  be  laughing  loud  that  a  way,  while 
you  are  digging  a  grave,  John." 

"Naw,  suh,  Mr.  Hiram,  I  sho'  oughtn't.  I  plum  for- 
got. But  I  been  a-thinkin',  an'  I  hope  dey  ain't  nuthin' 
gwine  to  happen  to  Mr.  Will." 

"Oh,  the  Ku  Klux  say  they  are  not  going  to  hurt  any- 
body except  them  that  have  been  up  to  mischief." 

"Waal,  dey  ain't  gwine  to  do  nuthin'  to  Mr.  Will,  den, 
but  den  ag'in  folks  don't  love  to  be  talked  ag'inst.  I 
say  when  you  talks,  talk  in  favor  of  somebody." 

"But  you've  just  been  talking  against  Madison  and 
Ulysses." 

"Yassuh,  dat's  a  fac',  but  one  of  dem  niggers  is  plum 
burnt  up,  an'  de  yuther  one  is  inside  de  jail,  haw,  haw, 
haw!" 

"Well,  get  to  work  now,"  said  Mr.  Hiram,  "and  stop 
that  laughing.  I've  got  to  go  and  see  about  the  other 
things." 

When  Mr.  Hiram  was  gone,  John  took  up  his  spade, 
pushed  it  into  the  earth,  and  said  to  his  helper,  "Handy, 


White  and  Black  261 

dey's  one  thing  I  likes  about  you,  a  man  kin  talk  to  you 
all  he  wants  to,  an'  you  don't  never  break  in  on  him, 
'cause  you  can't  hyear  nuthin'  he  says,  an'  if  you  could, 
you  couldn't  say  nuthin'  about  it.  Dey  sho'  would  be 
lots  less  trouble  in  dis  worl',  if  ever 'body  wuz  like  you, 
Handy. 

"Whut  I  want  to  say  anything  to  Mr.  Hiram  'bout 
dem  shotes  for?  Or  dem  Ku  Kluxes?  Dey  wuzn't  no 
sense  in  it.  An'  it  ain't  gwine  to  do  nobody  no  good. 
S'pose  Mr.  Hiram  wuz  to  git  de  notion  dat  I  knowed 
all  de  time  dem  shotes  wuz  stole,  or  s'pose  somep'n  wuz 
to  happen  to  Mr.  Will  an'  Mr.  Hiram  wuz  to  say, 
'Unh-hunh,  dat  nigger  knowed  somep'n  an'  he  wouldn't 
tell  an'  now  see  whut's  happened !'  Den  whar  would  I 
be?  An'  I  don't  know  nuthin'  about  none  of  it.  But 
somehow  or  nuther  when  you  is  diggin'  a  grave,  yo' 
min'  gits  to  goin'  'roun'  an'  'roun',  an'  de  fust  thing  you 
know,  yo'  tongue  jes'  runs  you  blabity-blab  right  smack 
into  de  heart  of  trouble." 

It  was  the  biggest  funeral  that  Compton  had  ever 
seen.  People  came  from  miles  and  miles  around.  The 
grave  was  a  bank  of  flowers.  And  for  once  the  Senter 
family  was  the  cynosure  of  all  eyes. 

In  spite  of  her  grief,  Mrs.  Senter  could  not  help  but 
have  some  feeling  of  complacency.  She  was  dressed 
just  as  she  felt  the  occasion  demanded,  the  coffin  was  a 
metal  casket,  and  thanks  to  the  good  offices  of  Mrs.  Rob- 
ertson and  other  ladies  of  the  community,  the  children 
made  a  creditable  appearance. 

When  it  was  over  and  they  had  reached  home,  she 
said,  "Sim,  wouldn't  it  be  nice  to  have  good  clothes  all 
of  the  time?" 


262  White  and  Black 

"I'm  s'prised  at  you,  Jennie,  to  be  thinkin*  of  clothes 
at  sich  a  time  as  this !" 

"Oh,  Sim,  Sim,  men  folks  can't  never  understand,"  she 
cried,  and  turning  from  him,  she  threw  her  arms  around 
a  post  of  the  porch,  leaned  her  weather-beaten  cheek 
against  it,  and  wept.  Her  spirit  was  bowed  down  under 
the  desolation  of  poverty  as  well  as  that  of  bereavement, 
and  she  was  overwhelmed  with  the  realization  that 
for  her  neither  would  ever  end. 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

MONDAY,  Bob  and  Mr.  Robertson  went  to  take  the  Sen- 
ter  children  back  home.  During  their  absence  Cindy 
came  in  to  talk  matters  over  with  Mrs.  Robertson. 

"Yassum,  Miss  Mamie,  jes'  like  you  wuz  sayin',  de 
bes'  thing'll  be  for  me  to  marry  Cyrus,  I  reckon,"  she 
declared. 

"I'm  glad  that  you  have  come  to  that  conclusion, 
Cindy.  It  is  the  only  thing  for  a  respectable  woman 
and  a  Christian  to  do." 

"Yassum,  an'  dem  is  two  things  I  always  is  been." 

"What  are  you  talking  about,  Cindy?" 

"Why,  whut  you  said,  Miss  Mamie,  I  always  is  been 
a  respectable  woman  an'  a  Christian.  Ain't  nobody  ever 
hyeared  of  me  cuttin'  up  an'  runnin'  roun'  loose,  an' 
dancin'  an'  fightin'  like  some  of  dese  yuther  niggers. 
I'm  stiddy  an'  hard-workin'  an'  reliable,  an'  I  gives 
money  to  de  church  all  de  time,  an'  dat's  whut  makes 
me  mad." 

"Why,  Cindy!  does  giving  money  to  the  church  make 
you  mad?" 

"Nome,  not  prezackly  dat,  but  whut  comes  of  it." 

"What  has  become  of  it?" 

"Waal  'um,  you  ain't  hyeared  about  Sally,  is  you,  Miss 
Mamie?" 

"No,  what  about  Sally?" 

"She  is  gone,  gone  for  good,  gone  to  de  City." 

"Oh,  has  she?" 

"Yassum,  when  you  all  wuz  at  de  funeral  yestiddy 

263 


264  White  and  Black 

evenin',  I  got  kinder  lonesome  an'  thought  I'd  go  down 
to  de  station.  An'  who  did  I  see  but  Sally,  all  dressed 
up  fit  to  kill?  An'  I  axed  her  is  she  goin'  away.  Anr 
she  say  hunh!  she's  tired  of  Compton,  it's  too  little  for 
her,  she's  gwine  where  she  kin  have  a  good  time. 

"An'  I  axed  whar  is  dat.  An'  she  say  down  to  de 
City.  An'  when  I  say  how  long  is  she  gwine  to  stay, 
she  say  she  ain't  never  comin'  back." 

"Well,  I  think  it  is  a  good  riddance,"  said  Mrs.  Rob- 
ertson. 

"Yassum,  I  think  so,  too.  But  I  tol'  her  shucks!  she 
ain't  got  no  money  to  stay  in  de  City  wid.  An'  den 
whut  do  you  reckon,  Miss  Mamie?" 

"I  don't  know,  Cindy,  what?" 

"She  reached  down  in  her  stockin'  an'  pulled  out  a 
roll  of  bills  an'  shuck  'em  in  my  face.  I  never  wuz  so 
outdone.  An'  she  say  you  see  dis,  it's  Babtis'  money,  an' 
she  laughed  like  she  would  bust.  Yes,  says  she,  ii's 
Babtis'  money." 

"What  did  she  mean  by  that?" 

"Dat's  whut  I  axed  her,  an'  she  say,  ax  Brother  San- 
ders, he  kin  tell  me.  An'  when  I  say  stop  yo'  foolin' 
roun'  hyeer,  an'  tell  me  whar  you  got  dat  money  from, 
she  say  Brother  Sanders  got  sorry  for  her  an'  gin  it 
to  her.  An'  den  she  laughed  some  mo'. 

"An'  I  tol'  her  she  wuz  a-lyin',  an'  she  better  mind 
out  how  she  come  a-slanderatin'  Brother  Sanders  'roun' 
me.  An'  she  say  I  kin  have  Brother  Sanders  for  all  of 
her.  She  say  she  done  wid  him,  an'  she  gwine  to  de 
City  whar  dey's  some  sho'  'nuff  folks.  She  say  she 
'spises  de  country,  an'  den  she  laughed  some  mo'.  An' 
den  she  say,  naw,  I  can't  have  Brother  Sanders,  'cause 


White  and  Black  265 

he  tol'  her  if  he  gwine  to  stay  good,  he  got  to  marry, 
an'  he  gwine  to  marry  one  of  Brother  Joe  Williams's 
gals. 

"An'  I  come  mighty  nigh  to  slappin'  her  in  de  face 
right  dere  on  de  flatform,  'cause  she  say  Brother  Sanders 
say  I  been  a-settin'  my  cap  for  him,  but  he  can't  affo'd 
to  fool  'long  wid  me,  'cause  I'm  too  ole  an'  fat  an'  black 
an'  ain't  got  a  good  reppitation.  Now,  whut  do  you  think 
of  dat,  Miss  Mamie?" 

"Oh,  I  wouldn't  pay  any  attention  to  what  Sally  says." 

"Nome,  I  wouldn't  ha'  neither  if  it  hadn't  ha'  been 
for  dat  money.  But  money  talks,  Miss  Mamie.  An* 
whar  did  she  git  it  from?" 

"Did  she  have  much  money?" 

"Yassum,  she's  boun'  to  've  had  'bout  fifty  dollars." 

"Well,  that  is  a  good  deal,  but  I  hope  she  didn't  really 
get  it  from  Richard.  It  will  hurt  Mr.  Will  so,  to  hear 
that  Richard  has  had  anything  to  do  with  Sally.  He 
has  been  so  hopeful  that  Richard  would  really  do  a 
good  work  among  you  all." 

"Yassum,  dat's  whut  I  says,  Miss  Mamie,  let  him  do 
a  good  work,  an'  not  spen'  all  his  time  skylarkin'  'roun' 
wid  dem  Williams  gals.  Hunh,  I  wouldn't  wipe  my 
foot  on  him.  I'm  mighty  nigh  a  mind  to  go  and  jine 
de  Methodists.  Anyhow,  Cyrus  is  a  Methodist,  an'  if 
we  gits  married,  it  may  be  de  bes'  for  both  of  us  to 
belong  to  de  same  church." 

"Well,  of  course,  you  would  have  to  judge  for  your- 
self about  that,  Cindy,  but  I  would  hate  for  you  to  do 
anything  that  would  hinder  any  real  good  that  Richard 
is  trying  to  do." 

"Nome,  I  ain't  gwine  to  hender.  All  I'm  gwine  to 
do,  is  to  git  out  of  his  way." 


266  White  and  Black 

"But  do  you  think,  Cindy,  there  really  was  anything 
improper  between  Richard  and  Sally?" 

"Tell  me  dis,  Miss  Mamie,  did  you  ever  hyear  of  a 
man  givin'  a  woman  fifty  dollars  jes'  for  pure  proper- 
ness  ?" 

"No,  I  don't  know  that  I  did,"  said  Mrs.  Robertson, 
smiling.  "But  then  Sally  might  be  telling  a  story  about 
where  she  got  the  fifty  dollars  from." 

"Nome,  I  been  kinder  keepin'  an  eye  on  her,  an'  dey 
been  somep'n  nuther  gwine  on  twixt  her  and  him  as  sho* 
as  you  bawn,  Miss  Mamie.  Sich  gwine-ons  makes  me 
sick,  an'  I  wouldn't  be  s'prised  if  I  wuz  to  up  an'  marry 
Cyrus  nex'  week." 

"Well,  at  any  rate,  that'll  be  some  good  to  come  out 
of  the  thing,  Cindy.  It  will  be  nicer  and  better  every 
way  for  you  and  Cyrus  to  marry." 

"Yassum,  I  reckon  so,"  said  Cindy,  without  enthusi- 
asm, "but  up  to  now,  Miss  Mamie,  I  been  de  top  rail 
on  de  fence.  An'  jes'  you  watch  whut  I  say,  when  we 
gits  married,  it's  gwine  to  be  a  mighty  tussle  for  me  to 
stay  up  dere." 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,  Cindy,  I  believe  you  can  hold  your 
own  anywhere,  and  I  think  it  would  be  a  fine  thing  for 
Richard  to  marry  one  of  Joe's  girls.  They  are  good 
girls,  and  any  one  of  'em  would  make  Richard  a  nice 
wife." 

"Waal  'urn,  if  Cyrus  gits  de  upper  han'  of  me,  he's 
gwine  to  know  he's  passed  through  somep'n,  an'  as  for 
Richard  Sanders,  it  don't  make  no  diffunce  to  me  who 
he  marries  or  who  he  don't  marry.  All  I  axes  is  don't 
lem'  me  hyear  him  preach  no  mo'.  He  say  he  don't 
believe  in  shoutin'  nohow,  an'  I  is  a  shoutin*  woman. 
I  always  is  been  a  shoutin'  woman,  an'  I  'specks  to  shout 


White  and  Black  267 

twell  I  die. — But  seems  like  I  smell  somep'n  a-burnin'. 
I  better  be  gittin'  back  to  de  kitchen," 

That  night  Mrs.  Robertson  said  to  her  husband,  "Will, 
Cindy  was  telling  me  to-day  that  Sally  Ramsey  has  left 
for  good,  she  has  gone  to  the  City." 

"Well,  it's  a  good  thing  if  it's  true,"  said  Mr.  Robert- 
son, "or,  at  least,  it's  good  for  the  country."  Then  he 
added  with  a  smile,  "I  am  afraid  that  Sally  is  an  unde- 
sirable citizen." 

"But  Cindy  said  she  had  a  lot  of  money." 

"She  got  it  from  Randy  Shallow,  I  reckon,  btit  if 
that's  so,  she  probably  hasn't  left  for  good." 

"No,  Cindy  said  she  got  it  from  Richard  Sanders." 

"From  Richard  Sanders!" 

"Yes,  from  Richard.  Cindy  said  something  has  been 
going  on  between  them,  and  that  Richard  told  Sally  if 
he  was  to  stay  good,  he  would  have  to  marry,  and  that 
he  was  going  to  marry  one  of  Joe  Williams's  girls." 

"Yes,  I  have  heard  that  he  is  going  to  marry  Lu- 
cindy,"  said  Mr.  Robertson  thoughtfully. 

"Isn't  it  odd,  Will,  that  he  is  going  to  marry  the  black- 
est one  of  the  three?" 

"Yes,  but  she  is  the  oldest,  nearest  his  age." 

"Still,  he  might  have  any  one  of  'em  he  wants,  and  it 
would  be  more  natural  for  him  to  want  the  brightest 
in  color,  and  that  would  be  Ella." 

"Yes,  I  reckon  so,"  said  Mr.  Robertson  absently. 
"But  do  you  think  from  what  Cindy  said  that  there  really 
was  anything  improper  between  Richard  and  Sally?" 

"Well,  Cindy  said  she  never  heard  of  a  man  giving 
a  woman  fifty  dollars  for  pure  properness,"  answered 
Mrs.  Robertson  with  a  gleam  of  amusement  in  her  eye. 


268  White  and  Black 

"No,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  "but  I  had  hoped— well, 
the  way  of  it  must  have  been  that  Richard  couldn't  stand 
against  the  temptation  of  Sally;  he  found  himself  en- 
tangled with  her,  and  then  to  get  rid  of  her,  gave  her 
the  money,  and  to  guard  himself,  made  up  his  mind  to 
marry  at  once.  Well,  that's  the  best  thing  he  can  do." 

"But  isn't  it  ridiculous,  Will,  that  a  preacher  who  was 
going  to  do  so  much  for  the  spiritual  welfare  of  his  peo- 
ple, should  get  into  such  a  mess  right  away  ?" 

"It's  bad,  yes,"  answered  Mr.  Robertson,  "it's  unfor- 
tunate. It'll  hurt  Richard  a  lot,  especially  among  the 
white  people,  and  Cindy  will  spread  it  everywhere.  But, 
after  all,  if  he  marries  and  settles  down,  maybe  it  will 
be  forgotten.  Oh,  it  looks  as  if  everything  is  going 
wrong!  But  what  could  he  do?  Any  man  is  likely  to 
slip  up,  especially  when  the  women  pursue  him,  as  is  cer- 
tain to  have  happened  to  Richard.  And  then  what  could 
he  do,  if  he  is  a  good  man? — He  could  hardly  do  any- 
thing better  than  what  Richard  has  done  and  is  pro- 
posing to  do." 

"But,  Will,  you  are  always  trying  to  excuse  people, 
especially  niggers.  Most  of  the  folks  here  will  think  he 
ought  to  be  run  out  of  the  community." 

"Yes,  that's  so.  But  the  next  preacher  they  get  might 
be  as  bad  or  worse,  and  Richard  really  is  educated,  and 
can  instruct  his  people  and  do  a  world  of  good  among 
them.  And  I  believe  he  wants  to  do  it.  And  there  is 
no  telling  how  Sally  circumvented  him.  She  is  a  regu- 
lar baggage,  and  she  has  lots  of  sense  and  lots  of  en- 
terprise." 

"Oh,  Will,  if  a  preacher  can't  stand  before  a  bad 
woman,  he  is  not  much  of  a  preacher.  The  same  is  true 
of  any  man,  whether  preacher  or  not." 


White  and  Black  269 

"Well,  honey,  you  know  even  David  had  his  Bath- 
sheba." 

"Yes,  that's  so,  but  you  are  not  going  to  bother  with 
trying  to  uphold  Richard,  are  you?" 

"No,  I  don't  think  there'll  be  any  bother  about  it. 
Of  course  I  wouldn't  like  to  see  him  run  out  of  the 
country,  because  I  think  he  can  and  will  perform  a  real 
service  here." 

"But  if  they  try  to  run  him  out,  Will,  you  are  not 
going  to  try  to  stop  them?" 

"Oh,  honey,  kiss  me  good  night.  They  are  not  going 
to  do  anything  like  that.  You  are  always  afraid  that 
something  is  going  to  happen  to  your  Will,  bless  your 
heart,  aren't  you,  honey?" 

"Well,  Will,  I— I—" 

"Here,  put  your  head  on  my  arm,  now;  I'll  blow  out 
the  light,  and  let's  go  to  sleep." 


CHAPTER  XXX 

ON  Wednesday  morning  the  community  of  Compton  was 
startled  by  the  news  that  during  the  preceding  night  the 
Ku  Klux  Klan  had  "got"  Henry  Thompson. 

About  noon  a  messenger  from  Rodney  Parker,  the 
sheriff,  came  to  summon  Mr.  Robertson  to  come  armed 
to  a  conference  to  be  held  in  the  jury  room  of  the  court 
house  at  three  o'clock. 

There  were  present  at  the  conference,  besides  Mr. 
Robertson,  Rodney  Parker,  Judge  Mowry,  Squire 
Meekin,  Brother  Maxcy,  Brother  McPherson,  the  Bap- 
tist minister,  Jasper  Deane,  senior,  Mr.  Hiram  Shorter, 
Samuel  Deane,  brother  of  Jasper,  Dr.  Anderson,  the  four 
County  Commissioners,  Professor  Adamson,  principal  of 
the  high  school,  Mr.  Perkins,  a  merchant,  Joe  Maroney, 
the  county  clerk,  and  Daniel  Barrow,  a  lawyer. 

Rodney  Parker  opened  the  meeting  by  saying,  "I  have 
called  you  gentlemen  together  to  consult  about  what  is 
to  be  done.  And  I  asked  you  to  meet  in  this  room  be- 
cause here  we  can  be  free  from  interruption.  Some 
others  that  I  asked  to  come,  sent  excuses  or  have  failed 
to  show  up.  Banker  Meredith  said  he  couldn't  afford 
to  take  sides  on  anything  like  this.  The  County  Judge 
said  he  was  sick,  but  he  looked  mighty  healthy  yester- 
day. The  County  Attorney  is  out  of  town.  The  As- 
sessor and  the  Collector  said  they'd  rather  not  come. 
And  the  Mayor  says  he  has  pressing  business  engage- 
ments for  this  afternoon.  I  thought  about  asking  Editor 

270 


White  and  Black  271 

Raston,  but  I  knew  he  couldn't  resist  the  temptation  to 
put  everything  in  the  paper,  and  I  didn't  know  whether 
we  would  want  everything  printed  right  now  or  not. 
Tony  Peters  said  he  would  come,  but  he  is  not  here. 
The  same  is  true  of  several  others.  If  I  hear  no  ob- 
jection, I  will  take  it  that  it  is  the  sense  of  the  meeting 
that  we  go  ahead  with  those  present." 

He  paused. 

"All  right,  there  being  no  objection,  we'll  hear  from 
Dr.  Anderson.  He  knows  more  about  this  thing  than 
anybody  else." 

"Dr.  Anderson !    Dr.  Anderson !"  cried  several  voices. 

Dr.  Anderson  rose,  cleared  his  throat,  and  began: 
"About  two  o'clock  this  morning  I  was  called  to  Henry 
Thompson's  house.  When  I  got  there,  I  found  Henry 
in  bed,  groaning  and  cussing.  There  was  some  tar  on 
his  face  and  head  and  some  feathers  still  sticking  in  his 
hair.  Finally  I  got  out  of  him  a  more  or  less  connected 
story  to  the  effect  that  last  night  about  ten  o'clock  he 
heard  a  noise  in  the  yard.  He  went  out  to  see  what  it 
was.  He  was  grabbed  by  some  masked  men,  was  blind- 
folded and  gagged,  and  his  hands  tied,  and  was  taken 
somewhere  in  an  automobile,  not  so  very  far.  There  he 
was  stripped  naked  and  emasculated,  and  then  warm  tar 
was  poured  over  him,  and  then  it  sounded  as  if  a  feather 
bed  was  cut  open,  and  the  slit  tick  was  thrown  over  his 
head,  almost  smothering  him;  his  hands  were  still  tied, 
and  the  feathers  stuck  all  over  him. 

"They  wrapped  him  up  in  the  bed-ticking,  to  keep 
the  tar  from  getting  on  the  automobile,  he  thought,  then 
brought  him  back  to  the  court  house  square  and  dumped 
him  out  naked,  except  for  the  tar  and  feathers,  telling 
him  that  he  and  all  of  his  folks  were  given  a  week  to 


272  White  and  Black 

leave  Compton,  or  something  worse  would  happen  to  him 
and  them. 

"He  managed  to  get  home,  where  his  folks  got  most 
of  the  tar  and  feathers  off  of  him  before  I  came.  I  re- 
dressed his  wounds,  though  they  were  very  well  dressed 
when  I  first  saw  them." 

Until  then  not  a  man  interrupted  the  speaker  with  a 
word,  but  as  Dr.  Anderson  paused,  Jasper  Deane,  senior, 
said,  "If  his  wounds  were  dressed,  there  must  have  been 
a  doctor  with  the  Ku  Klux." 

"Yes,"  said  Dr.  Anderson,  "there  must  have  been,  for 
the  operation  was  performed  by  a  man  who  knew  what 
he  was  about." 

"Did  you  ask  Dr.  Bolton  to  come  here  ?"  asked  Jasper 
Deane,  senior,  of  the  sheriff. 

"Yes,  but  he  sent  word  he  was  up  late  last  night  with 
a  patient,  and  didn't  feel  very  well,"  answered  the  sheriff. 

Dr.  Anderson  resumed,  "Henry  was  one  of  the  mad- 
dest men  I  ever  saw,  and  he  said  a  lot  of  things  I  wouldn't 
repeat  if  I  didn't  think  it  necessary  to  do  so,  in  order 
to  avoid  further  trouble." 

"What  did  he  say?"  asked  Mr.  Perkins. 

"He  said  that  he  recognized  some  of  the  men,  and  that 
he  was  going  to  kill  'em,  if  he  never  did  anything  else. 
And  we  all  know  that  Henry  is  a  man  of  his  word,  and 
he'll  do  it.  I  told  Rod  Parker  about  it,  and  that's  one 
of  the  reasons  why  he  has  called  you  together  here." 

"Who  did  he  say  he  recognized?"  asked  Mr.  Perkins 
with  evident  agitation. 

"Well,  I  hate  to  say.  I  don't  like  to  be  in  the  attitude 
of  a  tale-bearer  or  the  betrayer  of  a  confidence.  But 
then  again  I  don't  want  anybody  to  feel  that  I  am  afraid 
to  say.  What  do  you  think  about  it,  Mr.  Sheriff  ?" 


White  and  Black  273 

"Well,"  answered  Rodney  Parker,  "I  think  we  all 
ought  to  know.  I  think  all  of  us  here  can  be  counted 
on  to  try  and  preserve  law  and  order.  What  think  you 
all?" 

"I  think  it  would  be  best  for  us  to  know,"  said  Brother 
Maxcy. 

"Nobody  objecting,  I  take  it  that  all  of  you  agree  with 
Brother  Maxcy,"  said  the  sheriff.  "Go  ahead,  doctor." 

"He  said  he  recognized  one  of  the  men  by  his  voice, 
and  that  was  Randy  Shallow,  that  there  was  a  doctor 
with  'em,  because  somebody  called  him  doctor,  and  that 
that  must  have  been  Dr.  Bolton,  because  he  knew  it 
wasn't  me,  and  that  he  recognized  one  of  the  young  men 
that  caught  him  in  the  yard  because  that  young  man  had 
lost  the  little  finger  of  his  left  hand." 

"Hold  on  there,  doctor,"  cried  Jasper,  senior,  in  great 
excitement.  "Hold  on  there!  Everybody  knows  that 
my  son,  Jasper,  junior,  has  lost  the  little  finger  on  his 
left  hand.  Is  there  anybody  here  who  will  tell  me  that 
my  son  belongs  to  the  Ku  Klux  Klan?"  He  glared  about 
him  in  wild  anger. 

"That's  not  the  question,  Jasper,"  said  his  brother 
Samuel.  "The  question  is  how  to  keep  Henry  Thomp- 
son from  killing  him." 

"I'll  keep  him  from  killing  him.  I'll  go  and  shoot 
that  low  down  eunuch  where  he  lies  in  the  bed  of  his 
nigger  mistress!"  shouted  Jasper,  senior. 

"Oh,  no,  you  won't,  Jasper,"  said  the  sheriff  quietly. 
"We  are  not  going  to  have  any  shooting.  Hold  him 
there,  Samuel.  Catch  hold  of  him,  Mr.  Hiram." 

"It's  a  lie,  an  infernal  lie,"  cried  Jasper,  senior,  strug- 
gling with  Samuel  and  Mr.  Hiram.  "I  haven't  brought 
my  boys  up  to  join  a  gang  of  trifling  loafers  that  ramp 


274  White  and  Black 

around  at  night  to  stir  up  the  niggers  and  destroy  prop- 
erty!" 

It  was  some  minutes  before  they  could  quiet  Jasper, 
senior,  so  as  to  go  on  with  the  proceedings. 

When  quiet  was  restored,  the  sheriff  said,  "We  all 
know  Henry.  And  we  know  we  are  going  to  have  some 
murders  on  our  hands,  if  we  don't  prevent  'em.  If  the 
Ku  Klux  keep  on,  we  are  going  to  have  murders,  any- 
how. But  the  case  we've  got  to  deal  with  right  now  is 
Henry's.  I  don't  see  anything  to  do  but  to  start  a  peace- 
bond  proceeding.  And  of  course  nobody  will  go  on 
Henry's  bond  to  keep  the  peace,  because  tha*t  wouldn't  do 
any  good.  He  wouldn't  keep  it,  the  bondsmen  would 
be  soaked  and  the  murders  committed.  The  only  thing 
I  see  to  do  is  to  swear  out  a  warrant  before  Squire 
Meekin  here  and  put  Henry  in  jail." 

"It  looks  like  it's  pretty  hard  on  old  Henry  to  put  him 
in  jail  after  all  that  has  happened  to  him,"  said  one  of 
the  Commissioners  with  a  snigger. 

"Well,  what  else  would  you  suggest?"  asked  Judge 
Mowry  sarcastically. 

The  Commissioner  merely  grinning  sheepishly,  Lawyer 
Barrow  spoke  up,  "Yes,  put  him  in  jail  by  all  means. 
He  is  a  danger  to  the  community." 

"Especially  to  the  members  of  the  Ku  Klux  Klan," 
said  Judge  Mowry  with  a  little  smile  of  malice. 

"Do  you  intimate  that  I  am  a  member?"  asked  Lawyer 
Barrow. 

"No,  I  don't  intimate  it.  I  know  and  affirm  it,"  an- 
swered Judge  Mowry. 

"I  refuse  to  take  further  part  in  this  silly  proceed- 
ing," declared  Barrow,  and  stalked  out  of  the  door. 

"Well,  if  any  other  member  of  the  Klan  is  present  and 


White  and  Black  275 

he  feels  like  revealing  himself  or  leaving,"  said  the  sher- 
iff, "this  might  be  a  good  time.  However,  he's  welcome 
to  stay.  We  haven't  got  anything  to  hide.  It  might 
be  well  for  him  to  stay,  learn  all  he  can,  and  warn  his 
fellow  uplifters  of  public  morals  by  the  road  of  maim- 
ing and  murder,  so  that  they  will  not  be  hurt.  We  don't 
want  anybody  killed,  Ku  Klux  or  not." 

Then  there  rose  in  his  place  Brother  McPherson,  the 
Baptist  minister,  pale  as  a  sheet  and  trembling.  "Breth- 
ren," he  said,  "I  want  to  confess.  I  am  a  member  of 
the  Klan.  I  joined  it  without  realizing  what  it  would 
lead  to.  It  was  presented  to  me  mainly  as  a  bulwark  of 
the  Protestant  religion.  I  thought  of  it  more  as  a  de- 
fense against  the  spread  of  Catholicism  and  the  power 
of  the  Jews  than  as  anything  else.  And  I  was  told  that 
the  head  of  it  was  once  an  evangelist — a  Methodist,  it 
is  true,  but  still  an  evangelist — so  I  joined." 

"Well,  what  do  you  want  to  do,  Brother  McPherson?" 
asked  the  sheriff. 

"There  is  but  one  thing  for  me  to  do  as  a  Christian 
minister,  and  that  is  to  withdraw  from  the  Klan." 

"Oh,  I  mean  now.  What  do  you  want  to  do  now? 
Go  or  stay?"  the  sheriff  asked  impatiently. 

"I  move,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  "that  Brother  McPher- 
son be  invited  and  urged  to  stay  with  us.  We  need  the 
benefit  of  his  counsel  and  influence." 

The  motion  was  carried  unanimously,  and  Brother 
McPherson  said  in  acknowledgment,  "Brethren,  you 
don't  know  how  this  touches  me.  I  feel  that  I  had  for- 
feited your  confidence  by  having  done  a  foolish  thing, 
a  wicked  and  sinful  thing,  but,  God  be  praised,  you  have 
forgiven  me!"  He  sat  down  and  buried  his  face  in 
his  hands. 


276  White  and  Black 

Mr.  Perkins  rose,  and  said  with  many  pauses  and 
hesitations,  as  one  not  used  to  public  speaking,  "Gentle- 
men— as  you  all  know — I'm,  ah,  a  member  of,  ah, 
Brother  McPherson's  church,  and  when  I,  ah,  heard 
that  he  was  to  be  a  member  of,  ah,  ah,  the  Klan,  I  joined, 
too.  I,  ah,  am  a  hundred  per  cent  American,  and,  gen- 
tlemen, I,  ah,  feel  that  many  of  you,  ah,  fail  to  realize, 
ah,  the  danger  to  our,  ah,  beloved  institutions  in  letting 
the,  ah,  niggers,  Jews,  and  Catholics,  ah,  have  free  sway 
in  this,  ah,  ah,  our  glorious  country,  the  ah,  home  of  the, 
ah,  free  and  land  of  the  ah,  brave,  ah,  especially  the, 
ah,  Catholics.  They  burned  people,  ah,  once,  and  they 
would,  ah,  do  it  again,  if,  ah — " 

"But  they  never  tarred,  feathered,  and  castrated  'em, 
did  they?"  asked  County  Clerk  Maroney. 

"Well,  ah,  ah,  I  don't  know.  Nothing,  ah,  is  too  bad 
for  them,  ah,  to  do.  But,  gentlemen,  I,  ah,  wish  to  say 
that,  ah,  since  my,  ah,  pastor  says  it  is  a  wicked  and 
sinful  thing  to,  ah,  ah,  belong  to  the,  ah,  ah,  Klan,  and 
I  may  add  it  is  also?  a,  ah,  ah,  dangerous  thing,  I  mean, 
ah,  ah,  to  the  community,  I,  too,  am,  ah,  going  to  re- 
sign." 

He  sat  down  amid  laughter,  but  one  of  the  Commis- 
sioners, named  Allen,  jumped  to  his  feet,  declaring  with 
fiery  emphasis,  "I  am  a  member  of  the  Invisible  Em- 
pire of  the  Ku  Klux  Klan,  and  I'm  proud  of  it.  I  say 
to  hell  with  all  of  the  foes  of  our  proud  constitution, 
the  blood-sucking  Jews,  the  hyphenated  Huns,  and  the 
Pope-worshiping  Catholics,  to  hell  with  'em!  And  this 
is  a  white  man's  country.  Niggers  must  be  shown  their 
place  and  kept  in  it,  and  by  God!  they  will  be!  And 
the  runners  after  nigger  wenches  are  going  to  be  cured, 
and  cured  with  the  knife.  Do  you  get  me?  We  want 


White  and  Black  277 

no  mulatto  babies.  And  I  serve  notice  on  all  of  you 
here  and  now  that  I  am  going  to  stay  here,  and  I  am 
going  to  report  the  doings  of  this  meeting  to  the  en- 
shrouded knights  of  the  Ku  Klux  Klan!" 

"My  God!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Perkins. 

"I  move  that  he  be  invited  and  urged  to  stay  with  us," 
said  Judge  Mowry,  "we  need  the  benefit  of  his  counsel 
and  influence,  ha !  ha !  ha !" 

His  laughter  was  echoed  on  all  sides,  and  all  eyes  were 
turned  on  Mr.  Robertson,  who  rose,  blushing,  and  said, 
"Well,  the  joke  is  on  me,  but  I  think  I  was  right — " 

"Oh,  of  course  you  were  right,  Will,"  said  Judge 
Mowry  affectionately,  and  then  he  added  with  a  little 
smile  of  mockery,  "that's  what's  the  matter  with  you, 
you  are  always  so  damned  right.  But  let's  get  down  to 
business.  It  don't  make  any  difference  who  is  here. 
The  whole  order  of  the  invisible  and  inopportune  knights 
are  welcome  to  hear  what  we  have  to  say  and  to  know 
what  we  are  going  to  do." 

"Allow  me  a  moment,  please,"  said  Brother  McPher- 
son,  "there  is  one  more  statement  that  I  wish  to  make. 
I  was  not  with  those  members  of  the  Klan  who  muti- 
lated Henry  Thompson,  if  indeed  it  was  members  of  the 
Klan.  I  wish  all  of  you  to  know  that  I  would  never 
have  countenanced  anything  like  that.  And  whatever 
Judge  Mowry  may  say,  I  deeply  appreciate  the  motion 
made  by  Brother  Robertson  and  its  adoption  by  this 
body,  and — " 

"If  you  are  through,  Brother  McPherson,  we  will  pro- 
ceed to  business,"  said  the  sheriff. 

Brother  McPherson  sat  down. 

"As  I  see  it,"  said  Judge  Mowry,  "the  only  thing  to 
do,  is  for  somebody,  preferably  Dr.  Anderson,  as  he 


278  White  and  Black 

heard  Henry's  threats,  to  make  the  affidavit  before  Squire 
Meekin,  and  let  Squire  Meekin  issue  the  order  of  arrest 
to  the  sheriff,  and  let  him  commit  Henry  to  jail.  We 
can  hold  him  a  year  that  way  if  necessary,  and  I  reckon 
the  whole  thing  will  blow  over  by  that  time." 

"But  what  if  somebody  comes  up  and  offers  to  make 
bail?"  asked  Mr.  Perkins. 

"Oh,  I'll  take  care  of  that,"  said  Squire  Meekin ;  "who- 
ever the  bondsmen  are,  they  won't  be  satisfactory." 

"Oh,  well,  there's  no  danger  of  that,  anyhow,"  said 
Samuel  Deane. 

"What  are  you  talking  that  way  for?"  asked  Jasper, 
senior.  "We  want  to  be  certain.  We  don't  want  that 
low  down  cur  sneaking  around  here  in  the  dark,  ready 
to  jump  at  everybody's  throats." 

"The  putting  of  him  in  jail  will  be  certain,"  said 
Judge  Mowry,  "there  is  no  need  to  worry  about  that." 

"I  will  make  the  oath,"  said  Dr.  Anderson,  "but  there's 
no  use  in  disturbing  Henry  to-day.  He  won't  be  able  to 
do  anything  for  a  day  or  so  yet." 

"I  say  do  it  to-day,"  urged  Jasper,  senior. 

"Well,  all  right,"  said  the  sheriff.  "We  can  fix  up  a 
comfortable  bed  in  the  jail  for  Henry,  that  is,  if  Dr. 
Anderson  don't  think  it  too  dangerous  to  Henry  to  move 
him." 

"Oh,  no,  there  won't  be  any  danger  to  him,"  said  the 
doctor. 

"Now,  that  being  disposed  of,"  said  the  sheriff,  "what 
are  we  going  to  do  about  the  Ku  Klux  Klan?" 

"I  don't  know  whether  it  will  be  better  for  Brother 
McPherson  to  resign  or  not,"  said  Professor  Adamson. 
"If  he  should  stay  in,  he  might  be  able  to  exert  a  stronger 
influence  toward  restraining  the  other  members  from 


White  and  Black  279 

acts  of  violence.  I  gather  that  many  respectable  men 
are  members  of  the  order  now.  If  all  of  them  pull  out, 
then  the  Klan  will  be  left  altogether  in  the  hands  of  the 
reckless,  irresponsible,  or  vicious  elements,  and  there  is 
no  telling  what  may  happen." 

"No,"  said  Brother  McPherson,  "my  first  duty  is  to 
the  body  of  Christian  people  whose  guide  I  am  sup- 
posed to  be,  and  since  I  realize  the  probable  outcome  of 
the  Klan's  acts,  that  duty  calls  me  imperatively  to  re- 
sign. However,  knowing  the  members  as  I  do,  I  be- 
lieve I  can  convince  them  of  the  unwisdom  of  further 
violence,  and  I  pledge  myself  to  try  to  do  that." 

"If  Brother  McPherson  can  accomplish  that,"  said 
Brother  Maxcy,  "then  there  will  be  no  further  trouble, 
and  the  problem  is  solved." 

"But,"  said  Judge  Mowry,  "he  can  not  accomplish 
that.  With  all  due  respect  to  him,  I  don't  think  it  mat- 
ters much  whether  he  resigns  or  not,  or  how  he  uses  his 
influence.  The  order  was  founded  for  the  purpose  of 
forcing  some  people  to  do  what  other  people  think  they 
ought  to  do.  The  whole  thing  was  born  of  intolerance 
and  the  holier-than-thou  spirit.  It  intends  to  make  non- 
members  be  good  according  to  its  definition  of  good.  It 
is  bound  to  work  through  force,  and  the  only  kind  of 
force  it  can  employ  is  physical  violence,  and  that  must 
be  planned  and  carried  out  in  secret,  because,  otherwise, 
the  law  would  prevent  it.  It  is  the  logical  outcome  of 
that  very  intolerance  that  has  long  been  preached  in  these 
parts  by  irresponsible,  loose-mouthed,  fly-by-night  evan- 
gelists who  can't  make  money  enough  staying  in  one 
place,  so  they  go  about  to  peddle  their  narrow  and  vicious 
sectarianism  by  sensational  sermons  in  places  where  they 
can  skim  off  the  financial  cream  of  the  religiosity  of  the 


280  White  and  Black 

community  and  then  flit  with  their  ill-gotten  gains,  leav- 
ing behind  them  an  intensified  bitterness  of  sectarian 
hate.  I—" 

"But,  Judge,  Judge,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  "we  are  not 
here  to  consider  modern  evangelism,  to  hear  it  praised 
or  denounced.  Evidently  you  feel  intensely  on  that  sub- 
ject; many  of  us  do  not  agree  with  you,  but  that's  an- 
other matter.  We  are  concerned  with  what  must  be 
done  to  modify,  abate,  or — or,  stop  the  activity  of  the 
Ku  Klux  Klan.  I  confess  I  am  surprised  to  learn  who 
are  some  of  those  who  belong  to  it  or  sympathize  with 
it.  I  can  not  understand  the  processes  of  their  reason, 
but  we  are  confronted  with  a  condition  that  must  be 
remedied,  whatever  its  causes  may  have  been." 

"You  are  right,  Will,"  answered  Judge  Mowry.  "I 
was  getting  off  of  the  point.  There  are  some  things  I 
feel  so  intensely  about  that  I  can't  be  reasonable. — 
Well,  we've  got  to  combat  the  Ku  Klux  Klan  either  by 
reason  or  by  force.  Which  shall  it  be  ?" 

"As  a  member  of  the  Klan,"  said  Commissioner  Allen, 
"I  want  to  say  that  one  reason  why  we  propose  to  see 
that  criminals  are  punished,  is  the  lax  enforcement  of 
the  law  by  the  peace-officers  and  the  courts,  and  the  de- 
lays and  evasions  of  justice  through  the  manipulations 
of  tricky  lawyers.  Sheriff  Parker  and  Judge  Mowry 
can  put  that  in  their  pipes  and  smoke  it.  If  you  won't 
enforce  the  law,  we  will,  or  we  will  see  that  criminals 
don't  walk  the  streets  free,  unashamed,  and  unpun- 
ished." 

"That's  an  old  question,  and  we  can't  settle  it  here," 
said  the  sheriff.  "If  all  the  people  I  arrest  were  con- 
victed—" 


White  and  Black  281. 

"Many  innocent  folks  would  be  sent  to  the  peniten- 
tiary," interposed  Judge  Mowry. 

"Well,  you  never  have  arrested  Henry  Thompson," 
said  Commissioner  Allen,  "and  you've  always  known — " 

"Come,  come,  gentlemen,"  said  Brother  Maxcy,  "we 
are  not  getting  anywhere.  For  myself,  I  will  preach  on 
the  Ku  Klux  Klan  next  Sunday,  and  not  in  anger.  I 
will  try  to  make  my  hearers  see  the  folly  of  trying  to 
reform  the  world  by  such  methods,  and  the  anarchy  that 
a  continuance  of  them  must  bring  about." 

"I  will  do  the  same,"  said  Brother  McPherson,  "and 
I  move  that  a  committee  of  three,  say,  Judge  Mowry, 
Professor  Adamson,  and  Brother  Robertson,  be  ap- 
pointed to  write  and  print  in  our  county  paper  the  best 
argument  they  can  make." 

The  motion  was  carried. 

"How  would  it  do,"  said  Samuel  Deane,  "to  call  a 
mass  meeting  of  the  citizens  in  the  court  house  and  let 
us  find  some  one  to  address  them?  What  we  need,  I 
think,  is  to  bring  the  whole  thing  out  in  the  open.  I 
think  that  is  the  real  American  way  of  doing,  or  it  ought 
to  be.  Much  of  the  wrong  that  goes  on  here  or  any- 
where, does  go  on  because  people  cover  it  up,  and  are 
afraid  to  face  it  openly.  If  our  courts  are  not  doing 
what  they  should,  if  our  churches  are  not  so  good  as  they 
ought  to  be,  if  criminals  walk  around  free  and  un- 
ashamed, if  our  society  is  threatened  with  rottenness,  I 
say  let's  have  a  public,  open  meeting,  take  stock  of  our- 
selves, and  realize  where  we  stand.  I  believe  that  in 
such  a  way  a  sound  public  opinion  will  be  so  revived 
that  much  good  will  result  all  around." 

"Yes,"  said  Jasper,  senior,  with  a  snarl,  "that's  the 


282,  White  and  Black 

way  you've  been  thinking  all  of  your  life,  and  that's 
the  reason  why  you  haven't  got  anything.  You've  been 
thinking  that  the  people  want  to  do  right,  when  the  fact 
is  they  don't.  Nothing  is  further  from  their  minds. 
They  want  to  do  wrong.  They  want  to  cheat  and  lie 
and  steal,  and  they  are  going  to  do  it,  and  there  ain't 
any  way  to  stop  'em  except  to  put  'em  in  jail.  Look 
how  I've  brought  up  my  boys,  and  now  they  say  one  of 
them  is  a  Ku  Klux.  Oh,  I'll  pull  him  out  all  right,  if 
they  are  not  lying  on  him,  but  your  public  meeting  will 
end  in  moonshine  like  all  your  other  plans.  I  say  let 
the  grand  jury  get  to  work  and  indict  a  whole  lot  of 
people,  that's  what  I  say." 

"That's  a  good  idea,  Jasper,"  said  Judge  Mowry,  "but 
I  think  Samuel's  open,  public  meeting  will  be  a  good 
thing,  too,  if  only  we  could  get  a  man  that  everybody 
liked  and  trusted,  to  make  the  main  speech." 

"Well,  there  ought  not  to  be  any  trouble  about  that," 
said  Mr.  Hiram,  "we've  got  him  right  here.  What's 
the  matter  with  Mr.  Will  Robertson?" 

"No,  no,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  "I — I  thank  you,  Mr. 
Hiram,  but  I'm  not  a  public  speaker,  and  your  partiality 
for  me — " 

"I  want  to  thank  Mr.  Hiram,  too,"  said  Judge  Mowry. 
"The  only  reason  I  didn't  think  of  Will  was  because  I 
didn't  think  of  him  as  a  public  speaker,  but  the  people 
will  come  mighty  near  to  believing  what  he  says,  you  can 
count  on  that." 

"That's  what  I  think,"  said  the  sheriff,  "this  ain't  a 
time  when  we  need  a  speaker  so  much;  what  we  need 
now  is  a  man." 

"I  move  the  choice  be  made  unanimous,"  said  Brother 
McPherson. 


White  and  Black  283 

"I  second  it,"  cried  Professor  Adamson. 

The  motion  was  carried  without  dissent. 

"Gentlemen,  I  will  undertake  it,"  said  Mr.  Robertson, 
with  emotion,  "but  I  must  have  some  time  for  prep- 
aration." 

"Of  course,"  said  the  sheriff.  "How  would  next  Tues- 
day do,  Will?" 

"I  think  that  would  be  time  enough." 

"All  right,  then,  we  will  call  the  meeting  for  next 
Tuesday  at  eleven  o'clock,  to  give  the  country  people 
time  to  get  in." 

"Good,"  said  Judge  Mowry,  "first,  then,  we'll  try  rea- 
son, and  if  that  don't  work — "  , 

"We'll  try  force,"  said  the  sheriff. 

The  meeting  adjourned. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

IT  was  dusk  of  a  cloudy  evening  when  Mr.  Robertson 
left  the  court  house.  He  thought  he  would  be  late  to 
supper,  so  he  turned  off  of  the  high-road  before  he  came 
to  the  bridge.  He  would  take  the  short  cut  through  the 
creek  bottom,  ford  the  creek,  and  go  home  through  the 
bottom  gate.  He  urged  his  horse  to  a  sharp  trot  and 
kept  him  at  that  pace  where  the  ground  permitted.  But 
just  as  he  was  approaching  the  bottom  gate,  he  heard 
off  to  the  right  a  tumult  of  blows  and  angry  exclama- 
tions and  the  loud  snorting  of  a  horse. 

"Thud!  thud!  thud!"  blows  fell,  and  a  negro's  voice 
was  shouting,  "Dar  now !  Take  dat !  Dat's  right,  kick ! 
R'ar  up !  Pull  back !  But  I  got  you." 

"Thud!  thud!  thud!" 

"Twist  an'  squum  an'  snort,  but  I  got  you.  How  you 
like  dat  an'  dat  an'  dat?  I'm  gwine  to  beat  you  to 
death.  I  wush  you  wuz  him.  Oh,  Lawd,  I  wush  you 
wuz  him!" 

"Thud!  thud!  thud!" 

Mr.  Robertson,  amazed,  turned  quickly  and  rode  toward 
the  noise.  Through  the  gathering  darkness  he  made  out 
a  figure  of  a  man  beating  a  horse.  "Here,  stop  that!" 
he  shouted. 

But  the  man  was  so  intent  he  did  not  hear  the  cry. 
"Hunh,  Saladin!  I'll  Saladin  you.  Take  dat.  Hunh, 
how  you  like  it?  How  you  like  it?  An'  dat  an'  dat  an' 
dat!" 

The  horse  reared  and  plunged,  fell  and  scrambled  to 

284 


White  and  Black  285 

its  feet  again,  and  snorted  wildly,  but  it  was  powerless  to 
escape,  it  was  tied  securely  to  a  tree. 

For  a  moment  Mr.  Robertson  sat  dazed.  Could  it  be 
that  somebody  was  beating  Saladin?  Then  recovering 
himself,  he  dashed  forward  and  struck  the  man  over  the 
head  with  his  pistol.  Groaning,  the  man  fell  prostrate. 
Mr.  Robertson  dismounted,  hurried  to  the  horse,  looked 
at  it  intently,  "It  is  Saladin,"  he  said,  "it  is  Saladin! 
What  on  earth?— Whoa,  Saladin!  Whoa,  boy!" 

The  horse  pulled  away.  Mr.  Robertson  advanced, 
holding  his  hand  out,  "Whoa,  boy,  whoa !  There's  a 
good  fellow.  I'm  not  going  to  hurt  you,  Saladin.  Whoa, 
whoa,  boy !" 

He  patted  the  horse  on  the  neck  and  soothed  him. 
But  Saladin  winced  as  if  even. a  gentle  touch  hurt  him. 
At  last  he  stood  trembling  while  Mr.  Robertson  exam- 
ined him  as  best  he  could  in  the  gloom.  He  had  been 
most  cruelly  beaten. 

The  prostrate  man  groaned.  Mr.  Robertson  turned 
to  him,  stirred  him  with  his  foot,  and  said  angrily,  "Here, 
get  up!  Who  are  you?  What  do  you  mean,  you  in- 
fernal scoundrel?" 

The  man  sat  up,  looked  about  him,  dazed,  saying, 
"Whar,'  whar  is  I  ?  Oh,  oh,  my  head !" 

He  put  his  hand  to  his  head. 

"Why,  my  God!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Robertson,  "it's  Joe 
—Joe  Williams !" 

"Um-m-m-m,"  groaned  Joe,  "my  head !  It's  about  to 
bust." 

"Joe,  Joe,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  "what  on  earth  do 
you  mean?  What  has  come  over  you?" 

"Is  dat  you,  Mr.  Will  ?" 

"Yes,  it's  me.     I'm  a  mind  to  tie  you  to  that  tree  and 


286  White  and  Black 

give  you  what  you  were  giving  Saladin.  What  do  you 
mean?  Are  you  crazy?'' 

"Wait,  wait,  Mr.  Will,  I  had  somep'n  I  wanted  to  give 
you." 

Painfully  he  reached  into  the  pocket  of  his  pants, 
pulled  out  his  closed  hand,  and  then  opening  it  palm  up, 
extended  it  to  Mr.  Robertson.  "Dar,  dar  it  is,  Mr.  Will." 

"What  is  it,  Joe?  I  don't  make  it  out.  You  must  be 
crazy." 

"Take  it,  take  it,  Mr.  Will.     It's  de  medal." 

"The  medal?    What  medal?" 

"Yo' — yo'  boy's  medal.     He's  done  ruint  my  gal!" 

Mr.  Robertson  took  the  medal,  turned  it  over  and  over, 
looked  at  it  as  if  it  were  an  unknown  thing.  "Why, 
Joe,  what  are  you  talking  about?  Where  did  you  get 
this  medal?" 

"I  got  it  from  her." 

"From  who?" 

"From  Ella,  my  gal,  Ella." 

"Where  did  she  get  it?" 

"She  got  it  from  Mr.  Bob;  he  give  it  to  her;  he's  done 
ruint  her." 

"Oh,  Joe,  Joe,  that  can  not  be !'' 

"It's  so,  Mr.  Will.  She  tol'  me.  I  seen  her  wid  it, 
an'  I  whupped  her  twell  she  tol'  me.  But  dey's  somep'n 
runnin'  in  my  eye,  Mr.  Will.  I  reckon  it's  blood." 

"Here,  Joe,  take  this  handkerchief.  Wipe  it  off.  Can 
you  walk?" 

"I  don't  know,  Mr.  Will." 

"Here,  give  me  your  hand.  I'll  help  you  up.  Can 
you  stand?" 

"I  don't  know,  Mr.  Will.     I  feels  mighty  dizzy." 

"I'll  catch  your  arm.     Steady  now,  we'll  walk  just 


White  and  Black  287 

over  there  to  the  creek,  and  you  can  wash  your  face  and 
head.  Now  give  me  the  handkerchief.  I'll  wet  it  for 
you.  Now  sit  down  here  with  your  back  against  this 
tree.  Now  here's  the  handkerchief,  it's  wet.  Press  it 
to  your  wound." 

Two  or  three  times  Mr.  Robertson  wet  and  pressed  out 
the  handkerchief.  With  it  Joe  washed  his  wound  and 
stanched  the  bleeding. 

"So  you  were  beating  Saladin  for  your  revenge?" 
"Whut  could  I  do,  Mr.  Will?     You  know  how  I've 
raised  my  gals." 

"Yes,  I  know,  Joe.  And  you  couldn't  do  anything." 
"I  went  up  to  de  big  house  to  see  you  'bout  it  dis 
evenin'.  You  wuzn't  dar.  I  wuz  waitin'  for  you,  when 
'long  come  Cyrus  an'  axed  me  if  I  wuz  gwine  to  stay, 
to  feed  for  him.  He  say  he  wanted  to  go  to  town  and 
see  if  he  couldn't  make  'rangements  to  borry  some  money 
from  Mr.  Tony  Peters  to  git  married  on.  He's  gwine 
to  marry  Cindy  nex'  week.  When  I  went  to  feed, 
somep'n  nuther  said  to  me,  'If  you  can't  git  him,  you 
kin  git  de  nex'  thing  to  him.'  So  I  brung  Saladin  down 
hyeer,  an'  whupped  him.  Dat's  de  truth,  so  help  me 
Gaad !" 

"Yes,  I  suppose  it  is,"  said  Mr.  Robertson.     "I  know 

how  you  feel,  Joe.     But  I  don't  know  what  I  can  do 

about  it.     The  pity  is  that  what's  done  can't  be  undone. 

If  it's  true,  though,  I'll  try  to  make  it  up  to  you,  Joe." 

"I  don't  see  how  you  kin  do  dat,  Mr.  Will." 

"No,   I  don't — but  wait — if  things   are  as  you  say, 

your  family  has  been  wronged,  deeply  wronged.    Maybe 

I  could  do  something  to  make  it  up  to  them.     I  could 

do  this.     I  could  give  Richard   Sanders  and   Lucindy, 

when  they  marry,  that  little  place  of  Henry  Thompson's 


288  White  and  Black 

over  there  by  Uncle  Peter's  and  the  church.  I  could  buy 
it  and  give  it  to  them." 

"But  Brother  Sanders  ain't  gwine  to  marry  Lucindy." 

"Oh,  ain't  he?    I  thought  he  was." 

"Naw,  suh,  he's  gwine  to  marry  Ella." 

"Ella!" 

"Yassuh,  he  likes  Ella  de  best,  he  says.  I  think  it  is 
because  she  is  de  brightes'." 

"Well,  what  are  they  going  to  do  now?" 

"Oh,  he  don't  know  nuthin'  'bout  Ella  and  Mr.  Bob. 
I  been  studyin'  'bout  dat.  An'  I  knows  a  lot  'bout  him 
an'  Sally  Ramsey.  Cindy  tol'  me.  He  said  if  he's  gwine 
to  be  good,  he's  got  to  marry,  an'  he  gwine  to  marry  one 
of  my  gals,  an'  I  reckon  Ella  could  keep  him  as  good 
as  anybody  else  could." 

"But,  Ella — does  she  want  to  marry  him?" 

"Yassuh,  she's  crazy  to  marry  him,  'cause  Lucindy 
been  thinkin'  all  de  time  she  gwine  to  git  him,  an'  she 
been  treatin'  de  yuther  gals  scornful." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Robertson  after  a  while,  "I  suppose 
I  shall  have  to  leave  that  to  you  all.  If  what  you  say 
about  Ella  is  true,  I  don't  like  to  see  Richard  marry 
her.  But  shucks !  if  I  mix  in  that,  I'll  probably  do  more 
harm  than  good.  The  best  way  is  to  let  you  settle  your 
affairs  to  suit  yourself.  In  a  way  there  would  be  more 
justice,  anyhow,  in  giving  the  little  farm  to  Ella  and 
Richard." 

"Mr.  Will—" 

"Yes,  Joe." 

"It  looks  to  me  like  I  is  de  one  dat  has  had  all  de 
trouble  raisin'  dem  gals,  an'  eddicatin'  'em,  an'  tryin' 
to  keep  'em  good.  I  is  de  one  whut's  worked  an'  slaved 
an'  saved.  An'  it  ain't  my  fault  if  dey  goes  wrong. 


White  and  Black  289 

I  done  my  bes'  wid  'em.  An'  it  looks  to  me  like  if  any- 
body's gwine  to  git  dat  farm,  it  ought  to  be  me.  Let 
Richard  an'  Ella  start  out  like  me  an'  Malviny  an'  work 
dey  way  up,  an'  you  give  me  de  farm." 

"Well,  well,  well,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  laughing,  "the 
ruling  passion  is  strong  in  death.  If  there's  anything 
coming,  you  want  to  get  it.  I  don't  know  but  you  are 
right,  though.  Well,  all  right,  I'll  give  you  the  farm." 

"Dat  shows,  Mr.  Will,  whut  I  always  said,  if  you 
works  hard  an'  lives  right,  you'll  git  somep'n  in  de  end." 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!"  laughed  Mr.  Robertson.  Then  all  at 
once  he  fell  sad,  as  there  came  over  him  the  realiza- 
tion, "Such  it  is — and  Joe  is  one  of  the  best  of  them." 
He  sighed,  "Ah,  well,  it  must  be  admitted,  though,  that 
he  is  the  most  avaricious.  And  Bob,  Bob,  too,  in  spite 
of  all  our  care.  But  it  may  not  be  true.  It  may  not 
be  true!  Still,  Joe's  people  are  honest,  and  how  else 
could  she  ever  have  gotten  the  medal?" 

Then  he  said  aloud,  "Joe,  do  you  feel  strong  enough 
to  walk  home  now?" 

"Yassuh,  I  think  I'm  mighty  nigh  all  right  now.  I 
reckon  I'll  have  to  tell  de  folks  dat  a  limb  fell  on  me." 

"All  right,  let  me  see  you  start  off.  I'll  lead  Saladin 
back." 

Joe  rose  and  walked  off  quite  steadily. 

Mr.  Robertson  untied  Saladin,  remounted  his  own 
horse,  and  leading  Saladin,  headed  for  home.  His 
thoughts  were  busy,  "Mamie  must  not  know  about  this 
just  yet.  How  shall  I  manage?  It  will  need  a  lot  of 
thinking,  it  will  require  money,  and  I  can  see  that  the 
crops  are  going  to  fail  again.  Ay,  dear  me,  there  are 
lots  of  things  to  worry  about.  And,  Bob,  what  am  I 
going  to  do  about  Bob?" 


290  White  and  Black 

When  he  reached  home,  Mrs.  Robertson  said,  "Oh, 
Will,  Will,  I  was  so  uneasy.  What  was  the  matter? 
The  meeting  must  have  lasted  a  mighty  long  time." 

"Yes,  it  did  last  a  long  time." 

"What  was  the  trouble  ?" 

"Well,  we  had  to  discuss  the  Ku  Klux  Klan  from  A 
to  Z,  and  decide  what  to  do  about  Henry  Thompson." 

"What  did  you  decide?" 

"To  put  him  in  jail  until  the  thing  blows  over. — But 
Where's  Bob?" 

"I'm  uneasy  about  him,  too." 

"Why,  what's  the  matter  with  him?" 

"He  said  Saladin  had  gotten  out  of  the  lot,  so  he 
went  an  hour  ago  to  look  for  him,  and  now  it's  pitch 
dark.  Oh,  I  wonder  where  he  can  be !" 

"He'll  turn  up  directly,  I  suppose.  I  found  Saladin 
in  the  creek  bottom  as  I  came  through,  and  I've  brought 
him  home." 

"I  wonder  how  he  got  out  of  the  gate,"  said  Mrs.  Rob- 
ertson. 

"I  think  the  main  question  now,  honey,  is,  did  you  put 
me  up  some  supper?" 

"Yes,  of  course  I  did,  Will.  I  will  get  it  for  you. 
But  if  Bob  doesn't  come  back,  you  will  go  and  look  for 
him,  won't  you?" 

"Oh,  that  will  hardly  be  necessary.  Of  late  he  seems 
to  be  paddling  his  own  canoe." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that,  Will?" 

"Oh,  nothing  much,  but  it  seems  to  me  I've  seen  very 
little  of  him  in  the  past  few  days." 

"Will,  darling,  have  you  noticed  it,  too?  I  believe 
there's  something  the  matter  with  Bob." 


White  and  Black  291 

"Oh,  he's  getting  grown,  I  reckon,"  said  Mr.  Robert- 
son. 

"But  isn't  it  awful,  Will,  to  think  that  he  will  grow 
away  from  us?" 

"Yes — but  I  think  I  hear  him  now." 

Bob  came  in.  "I  couldn't  find  Saladin  anywhere,"  he 
said. 

"I  found  him  in  the  bottom,"  said  Mr.  Robertson, 
"and  put  him  in  the  stable." 

"I  don't  understand  how  he  could  have  got  out,"  said 
Bob,  "I  shut  the  lot  gate  myself." 

"Well,  I'm  hungry,"  said  Mr.  Robertson;  "will  you 
come  with  us  into  the  dining-room,  Bob?" 

"If  it  is  just  the  same  to  you,  Papa,  I'm  tired,  and  I 
believe  I'll  go  to  bed." 

"Oh,  all  right.  Good  night,  then,  but  I  want  you  to 
go  over  to  the  big  pasture  with  me  early  in  the  morn- 
ing." 

"Good  night,  Papa,"  said  Bob,  kissed  his  mother,  and 
went  upstairs. 

That  night  Mr.  Robertson  slept  little.  He  twisted  and 
turned  about,  till  Mrs.  Robertson  said,  "Will,  dear,  there 
is  something  on  your  mind;  can  you  tell  me  about  it?" 

"Well,  I  have  to  make  a  speech  about  the  Ku  Klux 
Klan." 

"Oh,  Will,  Will,  can't  you  let  that  alone?" 

"No,  honey,  I  can't  let  it  alone." 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

"EARLY  the  next  morning  Mr.  Robertson  went  into  Bob's 
room  and  waked  him,  saying,  "Get  up,  son.  Go  and 
saddle  my  horse  and  Saladin.  You  will  find  that  Saladin 
has  many  bruises  and  scars  on  him.  But  say  nothing 
about  'em.  We  are  not  going  to  do  much  riding.  Bring 
the  horses  around  to  the  front  and  hitch  'em  some  dis- 
tance down  the  avenue  toward  the  big  gate." 

"All  right,  Papa,"  answered  Bob,  wondering,  but  afraid 
to  ask  what  was  the  matter. 

After  breakfast  they  set  out  for  the  big  pasture  in  a 
mutual  silence.  When  they  had  crossed  the  railroad 
track  and  were  riding  through  the  pasture  gate,  Mr.  Rob- 
ertson said,  "Let's  turn  down  to  the  left  here  toward  the 
creek  where  it  is  shady." 

When  they  reached  the  swimming  hole,  he  said,  "Get 
down  and  tie  your  horse,  son.  I  will  tie  mine.  I  want 
to  talk  to  you." 

Bob  was  so  filled  with  apprehension  that  his  trem- 
bling fingers  could  hardly  knot  the  bridle  over  a  low- 
hanging  limb.  "What  does  he  know?  What  does  he 
know?"  was  running  through  his  mind. 

"We  will  sit  down  on  this  log,"  said  Mr.  Robertson, 
"and  you  can  tell  me  all  about  this."  He  handed  the 
medal  to  Bob. 

"Well,  I — I,"  said  Bob,  blushing  and  hanging  his  head, 
"where  did  you  get  that,  Papa?" 

"Come,  don't  fence  with  me,  son.  Be  at  least  man 
enough  to  tell  me  about  it." 

292 


White  and  Black  293 

"Oh,  Papa,  Papa,"  cried  Bob,  casting  himself  on  his 
knees  and  hiding  his  face  in  his  hands  on  the  log,  "I — 
I  don't  know  what  to  say !" 

"There's  only  one  thing  to  say,  and  -that  is  the  truth,"1 
answered  Mr.  Robertson  firmly. 

"Well,"  stammered  Bob,  "it — it  was  down  by  the 
spring.  And  the  fault  was  mine.  She — she  liked  the 
medal  so — so  much,  and — and  when  I — I  offered  to  give 
it  to  her,  she  consented.  She — she  has  always  looked 
up  to  me,  and — and  I  ought  not  to  have  done  it.  Oh, 
Papa,  does  Mama  know  it?" 

"No,  Mama  doesn't  know  it." 

"Are  you  going  to  tell  her?  Oh,  I  couldn't  bear  that 
she  should  know !" 

"No,  I  am  not  going  to  tell  her.  But  how — how  did 
you  come  to  do  it?  It  doesn't  look  reasonable  to  me 
that  it  should  have  been  Ella,  that  it  began  with  Ella." 

"No,  Papa,  it  didn't  begin  with  her.  It  began  right 
here  where  we  are  now.  It  began  with  Sally,  and  that 
was  not  my  fault,  Papa,  not  altogether  my  fault.  Listen, 
I  will  tell  you  about  it." 

Tearfully  he  told  his  father  the  whole  story. 

"And  how  do  you  feel  about  it  now?"  Mr.  Robertson 
asked  when  the  hesitating  account  was  finished. 

"Oh,  I  feel  like  a  wretch,  a  vile  wretch,  and  I  have 
felt  so  for  weeks.  I  would  give  anything,  anything  if 
I  could  undo  it,  especially  about  Ella.  But — but  some- 
thing came  over  me,  Papa.  It — it  was  stronger  than  I 
was,  and  somehow  I — I  couldn't  help  it." 

"Yes,  yes,  son,  it  was  so.  I  know  that.  I  do  not  re- 
proach you.  It  does  not  become  me  to  reproach  you. 
If  I  can,  I  want  to  help  you.  Oh,  son,  son,  I  was  guilty 


294  White  and  Black 

of  the  same  thing.  And  I  am  trying  to  say  to  you  what 
I  wanted  somebody  then  to  say  to  me." 

He  paused. 

"Yes,  it  was  your  mother  that  saved  me.  I  might 
have  become  a  Mr.  Hiram,  a  Randy  Shallow,  or  even 
a  Henry  Thompson.  Do  you  see  where  it  leads,  son?" 

"Yes,  yes,  Papa,  I  see.     I  have  always  known." 

"Do  you  think  there  is  anything  that  can  save  you?" 

"Oh,  if  I  didn't  feel  so  ashamed  of  myself  when  I 
think  of  Minnie  Deane — " 

"I,  too,  felt  that  way,  but — but  my  love  for  your 
mother  overwhelmed  even  that  feeling,  and — and  I  wish 
I  could  say  that  I  had  made  a  clean  breast  of  it,  but 
I  couldn't  do  that.  It  was  not  until  years  afterwards  that 
I  could  tell  her,  and  at  last  she — she  forgave  me.  And 
that  is  one  reason  why,  son,  she  has  tried  so  hard  to — 
to  keep  you — from  anything  of — of  that  kind." 

"Oh,  I  understand,  and — and  I  promise  you  and — and 
her  that— that— " 

"Yes,  son,  I  know,  that — that's  all  right,  son.  But 
you  know  how  Joe  tried  to  bring  up  his  girls.  He  is 
nothing  but  a  nigger,  still  he  made  a  sincere  effort,  a 
brave  effort.  And  it  was  through  us  that  should  have 
been  his  protectors  that  the  disaster  came.  Yesterday 
evening  I  found  him  beating  Saladin  in  the  creek  bot- 
tom. That  was  his  revenge.  He  felt  that  he  could  not 
touch  you — or  me." 

"Or  you?" 

"Yes,  or  me.  He  had  a  right  to  feel  that  I,  too,  was 
responsible  for  your  actions.  It  is  a  fact,  son,  that 
neither  you  nor  I  can  ever  escape  responsibility  for  the 
actions  of  each  other.  Any  disgrace  falling  upon  me 
will  attach  itself  to  you.  And  any  honor  achieved  by 


White  and  Black  295 

you  will  reflect  some  of  its  light  on  me.  You  and  I  and 
Mother,  son,  are  bound  together  indissolubly." 

"Oh,  I  know  it." 

"I  had  to  try  to  make  it  up  to  Joe  as  best  I  could,  so 
I  am  going  to  buy  Henry  Thompson's  little  farm  and 
give  it  to  him.  But  I  shall  have  to  mortgage  the  timber 
land  that  I  had  hoped  to  keep  free  for  you." 

"Oh,  that's  all  right,  Papa." 

"And  it  makes  no  difference  that  that  will  satisfy  Joe. 
A  wrong  has  been  done  to  Ella  that  never  can  be  re- 
paired, and  in  her  to  a  whole  race,  for  she  was  an  as- 
piration of  that  race." 

"Oh,  Papa !" 

"Yes,  son,  and  Richard  Sanders  is  going  to  marry  her. 
We  shall  always  owe  a  particular  debt  to  Richard  San- 
ders. He  doesn't  know  about  you  and  Ella.  And  I 
didn't  know,  don't  now  know,  what  was  right  about  that 
—that—" 

"Wouldn't  it  be  best  for  me  to  tell  him,  and  take  that 
debt  on  myself?" 

"You  can't  do  that,  son,  without  further  injury  to 
Ella.  She  must  be  considered  first,  for  we  have  already 
wronged  her,  and  to  heap  all  of  the  consequences  on  her 
head — we  couldn't  do  that." 

"No,  Papa." 

"And,  son,  most  people  would  say,  'Oh,  they  are  nig- 
gers, why  bother  so  much  about  mere  niggers?  They 
would  probably  be  guilty  of  the  same  thing  with  each 
other,  or  with  other  white  men.  And  they  don't  bother 
about  things  of  that  sort,  anyhow.  Look  at  Sally,  look 
at  Cindy.' — And  all  that  may  be  true,  son,  but  that 
doesn't  excuse  you  or  me.  Do  you  see,  son?" 

"Yes,  somebody  has  to  help  up." 


296  White  and  Black 

"That's  it,  that's  it,  somebody  has  to  help  up.  And, 
son,  why  could  it  not  be  us?" 

"Oh,  Papa,  it  can  be  us !" 

"I  don't  know  what  the  end  of  it  all  will  be,  but  the 
way  to  any  good  end  must  lie  along  the  road  of  racial 
self-respect.  The  white  race  must  respect  itself ;  the 
black,  itself;  and  they  must  respect  each  other.  Race 
hatred  must  be  lessened,  not  increased.  Suppose  we  rec- 
ognized their  inferiority,  but  were  always  fair,  always 
just!  And  now  we  have  the  Ku  Klux  Klan  to  foment 
prejudice  and  hate.  But  that  will  be  temporary.  It  will 
soon  pass." 

"Do  you  think  it  won't  last?" 

"No,  it  can't  last.  When  the  people  understand  it,  when 
they  see  the  consequences  of  it,  it  will  die  of  its  own 
wicked  folly." 

"But  it  may  first  cost  the  life  of  some  of  our  best 
people,  don't  you  think  so  ?" 

"Yes,  it  may  do  that — either  directly  or  indirectly 
through  the  mob  spirit  that  it  fosters. — But,  son,  you 
know  that  for  a  while  I  thought  of  moving  to  the  City, 
but  I  have  made  up  my  mind  that  this  is  the  place  for 
me.  This  is  the  place  where  I  amount  to  something, 
where  they  love  me,  where  I  may  yet  do  some  real  good." 

"Oh,  I  am  glad,  I  am  glad,  and  I,  too — " 

"No,  wait,  son,  you  will  go  to  college,  and  then  you 
will  decide  for  yourself,  not  now;  many  things  may 
happen  in  that  time,  and  you  will  learn  much  about  your- 
self. Farming  pays  less  and  less.  But  I  am  going  to 
make  a  new  start  next  year.  If  I  have  your  consent,  I 
am  going  to  mortgage  the  timber  land  for  enough  to  buy 
also  some  thoroughbred  cattle,  and  make  a  live-stock 
farm  out  of  this  place,  and  move  the  Senters  over  here. 


White  and  Black  297 

John  Ramsey  is  going  to  move,  and  Joe  Williams  will 
be  on  his  own  farm.  The  lower  place  I  will  farm  as 
heretofore,  at  least,  for  a  few  years,  until  I  can  see  how 
the  new  experiment  turns  out." 

"Oh,  how  could  you  think  about  asking  my  consent? 
You  know,  you  know  that  whatever  you  do  will  seem 
right  and  best  in  my  eyes.  And  besides,  I  am  to  blame 
for  the  whole — " 

"No,  no,  son,  not  for  all.  It  is  hard  to  place  blame. 
We  have  inherited  a  burden  from  our  ancestors,  the 
consequences  of  slavery,  and  we  live  under  that  bur- 
den, but  they  did  not  foresee  the  consequences.  It  is 
hard  to  foresee  the  consequences  of  a  bad  thing,  espe- 
cially when  it  is  a  thing  that,  for  the  time  being,  is  pleas- 
ant and  profitable  to  us.  And  every  bad  thing  has  so 
many  evil  consequences." 

"Yes,  Papa." 

"In  their  places,  we  should  likely  have  done  what 
they  did.  And  after  all  is  said  and  done,  it  is  probably 
better  for  the  present  generation  of  niggers  to  be  here  in 
the  condition  in  which  they  find  themselves,  than  in  the 
wilds  of  Africa.  In  some  way  that  I  do  not  compre- 
hend, it  may  be  better  for  us.  But  I  should  like  for  you 
always  to  remember  that  a  nigger  is  still  a  human  being, 
in  most  cases  an  undeveloped  human  being  that  needs 
guidance  and  protection,  and  in  all  cases  a  human  being 
that  has  a  right  to  justice  and  fair  dealing." 

"Yes,  Papa." 

"And,  son,  there  will  come  times  when  this  talk  of 
mine  may  seem  to  you  soft  and  sentimental." 

"No,  no,  I  never  will — " 

"Yes,  it  would  seem  so  to  nearly  everybody,  but  when 
I  was  a  boy,  I  made  up  my  mind  that  if  ever  I  had  a 


298  White  and  Black 

son,  I  would  talk  out  my  heart  to  him.  And  that  is  what 
I  am  now  trying  to  do." 

"Oh,  I  shall  always  be  grateful  and — " 

"I  have  done  many  things  of  which  I  am  ashamed,  but 
I  know  now  it  is  not  best  to  think  on  them  too  much. 
They  lame  you.  It  is  best  to  put  them  behind  you,  for- 
get them,  banish  them  entirely  from  your  memory.  What 
is  done  can  not  be  undone ;  why  wear  it  as  a  corpse 
about  your  neck?  But  how  fine  it  would  be  if  we  could 
say  now  with  regard  to  any  present  thing  that  is  shame- 
ful, 'It  is  shameful;  I  will  do  nothing  shameful,  even 
to  hide  a  former  shame !' " 

"Oh,  Papa,  I'm  going  to  have  to  tell  Mama." 

"Yes,  son,  I  hoped  you  would." 

"And  it  will  hurt  her  so !" 

"Yes,  son,  it  will  hurt  her." 

"And  before  ever  I  should  ask  Minnie  to  marry  me, 
she  ought  to  know?" 

"Yes,  son,  she  ought  to  know." 

"Oh,  that  is  hard!" 

"Yes,  it  is  hard,  but  it  would  be  harder  still  for  you 
if  they  did  not  know — if  you  had  to  live  with  them  with- 
out their  knowing.  Mama,  I  know,  and  Minnie,  if  she 
loves  you,  will  help  you  to  forget.  And  if  the  knowl- 
edge comes  to  them  from  you,  their  pain  will  not  be  one- 
half  so  great  as  if  it  came  from  some  one  else.  And 
so  you  will  be  set  free,  as  far  as  you  ever  can  be  free." 

"Oh,  then,  I  never  can  be  entirely  free?" 

"No,  never  so  free  as  if  the  thing  had  never  been. 
But  freer,  possibly,  than  you  think  now,  for  there  is  also 
much  healing  merely  in  the  lapse  of  time. — And,  son,  I 
haven't  said  anything  to  you  about  religion.  It  seems, 
somehow,  harder  to  talk  about  that  than  about  anything 


White  and  Black  299 

else.  Perhaps  it  is  because  we  all  feel  that  we  fall  so 
far  below  its  high  standards,  but  you  know  how  I  feel 
about  it." 

"Yes,  I—" 

"Good  mawnin',  Mr.  Will,  good  mawnin',  Mr.  Bob." 
John  Ramsey  had  approached  unnoticed  with  a  gun  on 
his  shoulder.  "I  didn't  know  you  all  wuz  down  hyeer. 
I  wuz  jes'  bruisin'  aroun'  lookin'  for  a  squir'l.  De  ole 
woman  wants  somep'n  to  put  in  de  pot." 

"Have  you  heard  from  Sally,  John?"  asked  Mr.  Rob- 
ertson. 

"Yassuh,  I  got  a  letter  yestiddy  evenin'." 

"How  is  she  getting  on?" 

"She's  doin'  fine,  Mr.  Will,  jes'  fine.  She  writ  she's 
made  mighty  nigh  fifty  dollars  sence  she's  been  in  de 
City  already,  an'  she  say  she's  gwine  to  send  me  some 
money  when  she  gits  a  little  mo'." 

"What  is  she  doing?" 

"I  don't  know,  suh,  jes'  prezackly,  but  she  say  busi- 
ness is  fine  in  de  City.  She  says  she  ain't  gwine  to  ever 
come  back  up  hyeer.  She  say  things  is  too  slow  for  her 
'round  Compton,  an'  dey's  mo'  loose  money  down  dar 
whar  she  is." 

"Well,  you  are  going  to  move  over  to  Mr.  Randy  Shal- 
low's place  this  fall,  aren't  you?" 

"I  don't  know,  suh,  I  wuz  a-thinkin'  about  it,  but 
den  I  say  to  myse'f,  'Nunck-unh,  I  don't  know  how  Mr. 
Will  gwine  to  git  along  widout  me !'  " 

"Well,  I  am  going  to  get  along  without  you,  all  right," 
answered  Mr.  Robertson. 

"Meanin',  Mr.  Will?" 

"Meaning  that  you  are  going  to  move  somewhere,  and 
you  had  better  be  looking  out  for  a  place." 


300  White  and  Black 

"Waal,  suh,  of  co'se  I  kin  move,  but  I  sorter  hates  to 
leave  you  in  de  lurch,  Mr.  Will." 

"Don't  bother  about  that,"  said  Mr.  Robertson,  smil- 
ing, "I'll  manage  to  get  along." 

"Waal,  suh,  I  don't  have  to  move  early  in  de  fall, 
right  at  de  beginnin',  so  to  say,  does  I  ?" 

"Oh,  no,  there's  no  hurry  about  it.  Take  your  time. 
I'll  help  you  find  another  place,  if  you  can't  find  one 
for  yourself.  I  am  going  to  make  a  stock  farm  out  of 
this  place." 

"It  sho'  will  make  a  good  un',  Mr.  Will,  whut  wid  all 
dis  hyeer  Johnson  grass  an'  'Muda  grass  I  been  a-fightin' 
so  hard.  But  I  knowed  you  wouldn't  give  me  up,  Mr. 
Will,  'ceppen  you  had  to.  Of  co'se  I  ain't  no  cattle 
man,  I's  a  farmer,  but  den,"  scratching  his  head  thought- 
fully, "I's  a  putty  good  cattle  man,  too." 

"Well,  next  year  you  may  exercise  your  talents  some- 
where else.  Run  along  now." 

When  John  was  gone,  Mr.  Robertson  said,  "Bob,  sup- 
pose we  take  a  swim.  I've  got  a  fancy  stroke  that  I 
don't  believe  I  ever  did  show  you." 

"All  right,  Papa,  I'd  just  love  to,"  answered  Bob  joy- 
fully. 

As  John  walked  on,  peering  up  in  the  trees  for  a 
squirrel,  he  was  thinking,  "Hunh !  I  kep'  my  mouth  shut 
dat  time  all  right.  But  whut  he  don't  know,  don't  hurt 
him.  If  Sally  keeps  on  a-doin'  so  good,  we  gwine  to 
move  to  de  City,  an'  set  up  a  swell  boa'din'  house.  Den, 
look  out,  niggers!" 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

ON  the  Saturday  night  following,  which  was  July  six- 
teenth, 1921,  Mrs.  Robertson  and  Bob  were  in  the  sitting- 
room  studying  the  Sunday-school  lesson  for  the  next 
day,  the  story  of  the  conversion  of  Saul  of  Tarsus.  Mr. 
Robertson  was  walking  up  and  down  on  the  front  porch 
composing  his  speech  for  the  following  Tuesday.  At 
nine-thirty  Mrs.  Robertson  called  out,  "Will,  dear,  we 
are  going  to  bed,  will  you  come  ?" 

"No,  honey,  I  couldn't  go  to  sleep  now.  I  think  I 
will  wrestle  with  this  speech  an  hour  or  so  yet." 

"Well,  good  night,  darling." 

"Good  night,  I  will  come  before  so  very  long." 

"Good  night,  Papa,"  called  Bob. 

"Good  night,  son." 

His  mind  recurred  straightway  to  the  speech.  He  was 
filled  with  a  sort  of  exaltation  to  think  that  his  fellow 
citizens  had  selected  him  to  make  it,  especially  when 
there  were  present  others  so  much  more  practised  in 
public  speaking.  A  feeling  of  affection  for  the  people 
enveloped  him.  They  trusted  in  him,  and  they  were 
fundamentally  so  kind,  though  so  easily  turned  aside  by 
their  passion  or  prejudice.  And  there  came  to  him,  too, 
a  sobering  sense  of  his  kinship  with  them.  God  grant 
he  might  be  able  to  say  something  that  would  be  of 
real  value,  something  that  would  incline  them  away  from 
bitterness  to  harmony!  Oh,  they  needed  to  pull  to- 
gether, to  cooperate,  to  have  respect  and  love  for  each 
other ! 

301 


302  White  and  Black 

As  he  came  to  the  west  end  of  the  porch,  his  eye  hap- 
pened to  catch  the  road  that  ran  to  the  bottom  gate,  and 
his  glance  traveled  along  it  to  its  end  as  it  lay  clear  in 
the  moonshine,  for  the  moon  was  nearly  full.  But  stop ! 
what  was  that  at  the  gate?  He  could  make  out  the 
figures  of  horsemen — one,  two,  three — ten  of  them.  Now 
they  were  all  inside  the  field.  They  were  clustered  close 
together,  most  of  them  in  the  open  roadway.  They 
seemed  to  be  lifting  their  hands  up  to  their  heads.  What 
were  they  doing?  Stay !  could  it  be  that  they  were  mask- 
ing their  faces?  One  thing  was  certain,  they  wore  no 
white  robes,  for  such  garments  would  have  gleamed  in 
the  moonshine.  But  what  were  they  going  to  do?  He 
watched  with  bated  breath. 

They  came  a  little  way  up  the  road,  then  turned  to 
their  right,  riding  in  single  file  down  a  cotton  row. 
Where  could  they  be  going?  There  was  no  house  inside 
the  field  in  that  direction  except  Joe  Williams's.  That 
must  be  their  destination.  What  could  they  want  there? 
They  intended  mischief  to  somebody.  To  whom? — The 
people  at  Joe's  house  must  be  warned,  must  be  pro- 
tected. Perhaps  he  might  have  time  by  running,  to  reach 
there  before  the  horsemen.  He  could  travel  in  a  straight 
line;  they  would  probably  ride  around  the  curve  of  the 
cotton  row. 

Without  pausing  to  get  even  his  hat,  he  jumped  from 
the  end  of  the  porch  to  the  ground,  traversed  the  flower 
garden,  vaulted  the  fence,  turned  sharply  to  his  left,  and 
ran  at  top  speed.  Beside  the  fence  of  the  horse-lot  he 
hurried,  down  the  hill  through  the  cotton,  across  the 
spring  branch,  tip  the  hill  through  the  corn.  He  could 
not  see  around  him  for  the  stalks.  Would  he  get  there 


White  and  Black  303 

in  time?     He  hadn't  the  breath  for  a  shout  of  warning. 

He  emerged  from  the  corn  at  Joe's  back  fence. 

"Halt !"  he  heard  dimly. 

He  paid  no  attention  to  the  command,  but  scrambled 
over  the  rail  fence,  ran,  panting,  around  the  house, 
clambered  up  on  the  end  of  the  porch,  walked  to  the 
middle  of  it  in  front  of  the  shut  door  of  the  hallway, 
and  there  turned  to  face  whatever  danger  threatened. 
He  could  not  speak. 

A  small  knot  of  men  on  foot  were  gathered  at  the 
front  gate.  They  were  masked.  One  of  them  was  call- 
ing, "Richard,  Richard  Sanders,  come  out  of  there !  We 
want  you.  Come  out,  or  we  will  shoot." 

There  was  no  light  in  the  house,  no  noise,  not  a  whis- 
per, not  a  creaking  of  a  board  under  a  cautious  foot- 
step. Maybe  nobody  was  at  home,  or  perhaps  his  la- 
bored breathing  dulled  his  hearing.  He  could  be  seen 
but  dimly.  The  rays  of  the  moon  could  not  reach  him. 
He  stood  in  the  shadow  of  the  porch's  roof. 

The  voice  from  the  front  gate  cried,  "Whoever  you 
are  on  that  porch,  you'd  better  git  out  of  the  way.  We 
want  Richard  Sanders,  and  we're  goin'  to  have  him!" 

Mr.  Robertson  did  not  move.     He  could  not  speak. 

"Watch  out,"  cried  the  voice,  "we  are  going  to  shoot !" 

Mr.  Robertson  advanced  to  the  edge  of  the  porch. 
Struggling  for  breath,  he  stammered,  "It — it  is  I,  Will 
Robertson." 

"You  are  not  goin'  to  keep  us  from  gittin'  Richard 
Sanders  this  time ;  git  out  of  the  way !" 

"No,  no,  you  shall  not !"  cried  Mr.  Robertson. 

"Ketch  him,  boys !     Ketch  him  and  hold  him!" 

They  ran  forward  in  a  confused  group. 


304  White  and  Black 

The  door  opened.  A  man  came  out,  crying,  "Oh,  Mr. 
Will,  Mr.  Will,  don't  let  'em  shoot  in  the  house.  Save 
me,  save  me!" 

"There  he  is  now,  there  he  is  now,"  some  one  shouted 
from  the  advancing  throng.  "Git  him,  git  him,  git  the 
damned  scound'le!" 

A  shot  rang  out. 

Mr.  Robertson  swayed,  toppled,  fell  from  the  edge  of 
the  porch  forward,  full  length,  face  down,  on  the  ground. 

The  crowd  stopped.     It  stood  still. 

From  it  there  emerged  a  single  figure,  ran  rapidly  the 
few  intervening  steps,  knelt  by  the  fallen  body,  and  then 
cried  out  heart-brokenly,  "My  God,  somebody  has  killed 
Mr.  Will!" 

Then  the  man  rose  erect,  tore  off  his  mask,  flung  it 
against  the  earth,  faced  around,  and  Harry  Senter  stood 
revealed.  "Who  fired  that  shot?"  he  cried.  "Who  fired 
it?  Oh,  God!"  he  wailed,  "somebody  has  killed  the 
best  man  in  the  world." 

He  threw  himself  prostrate  on  the  body.  The  crowd 
melted  away.  "Oh,  Mr.  Will,  Mr.  Will,"  he  sobbed, 
"I'll  find  out  who  done  it,  I'll  find  out  who  done  it,  and 
I'll  kill  him,  so  help  me  God!" 


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